A Chino Dream
by elzed
Summary: Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart... Did you ever wonder why good boy Ryan got into that car with Trey? Read on. Chino-set, pre-Pilot, multi-chapter fic. Please R&R.
1. High Hopes

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

_Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter._

_So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?_

_Rating PG13 for now, R later. _

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. I ain't got nothin'._

_Thanks to BonnieD for beta-ing this. _

_Please review - feedback really appreciated. _

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_Chapter 1: High hopes_

Ryan woke with a start just before his alarm clock went and slammed the button down before it had a chance to beep. He fell back onto his pillow, his heart beating too fast, his breathing ragged. He couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd woken up so abruptly, but he was already calming down, so it couldn't have been that bad. He stared at the ceiling and decided he'd give himself a few minutes to relax before getting up. He felt he could afford to these days.

Today – Monday – made it thirty-eight days since his mom's last bender – according to her, since her last drink. And Ryan was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. He was confident she wasn't drinking behind his back. He had become really good at spotting that after years of failed attempts at drying up. This time it looked really promising. He was almost willing to believe that their life was taking a turn for the better.

It was never that bad in the mornings anyhow. Ryan rarely went to bed much earlier than Dawn, and the walls of the house were so thin, he would have heard her if she tried to sneak a drink in the night. He also checked her bedroom over regularly when she was out to make sure she wasn't hiding booze in her closet. Mornings were not the problem. The real test was coming home in the evenings.

He would hold his breath as he turned the key in the lock, willing himself to be calm, every muscle in his body tensing up as he entered the house and scanned it. Even worse were the evenings where she was working the late shift at the diner and Ryan would pretend to watch TV or do his homework with one eye on the door, staying up until midnight to make sure he was there when she came in. Until he saw her he wouldn't know whether or not she'd stayed on the wagon. He could tell quickly though, even before smelling her breath, if she had been drinking. He had been reading the signs for the better part of a decade and even his mother knew there was no way she could fake being sober with him. She could hoodwink Trey, maybe, especially if he was wasted, because he never looked at her that closely. Ryan did.

But as the days clocked by, the tension eased, and he was letting his routine slacken. It had been at least four days since he'd last checked the house for alcohol. Five weeks on, Ryan was beginning to think this might be the real thing. His mom hadn't stuck it that long since she had started drinking seriously. Since his father had been sent to jail and they'd moved from Fresno, nearly ten years ago.

It had gotten to the point where Ryan was no longer always on his guard. He was even considering the possibility of going out the coming weekend – something he had given up in a discreet show of support that he wasn't sure she'd noticed. He was also getting a little tired of all the studying he was putting in to fill the time, of being always on his best behaviour. And of watching the same crappy shows on TV.

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So Monday morning, Ryan felt pretty good. It was amazing how much easier life was when it was just the two of them – no AJ to mess him up, no Trey to drive Dawn up the wall – and when his mother was sober, single, and holding down a job. She was just a waitress at a local diner – but the job was good. The owner was friendly, the tips decent, and more often than not, Ryan could count on a free meal if he dropped by. All in all, his life was starting to sound quite normal – and he had had precious little experience with normal. It was a new feeling for Ryan, one that he could get used to. He hoped he would get a chance.

Then again, if he was going to be leading a normal life – maybe it was time to deal with some of the issues he had been postponing until now.

The first letter from school mentioning upcoming SATs had gone straight into the Atwoods' trashcan. Ryan didn't even bother handing it over to his mom. When it was followed a week later by another one, with a note from the school counsellor suggesting he give it a go, Ryan found himself in two minds. He had been carrying the letter in his schoolbag for three days now.

It was time to do something about it.

He got out of bed and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Dawn was drinking coffee when Ryan joined her in the living room, letter in hand. He felt very nervous, not least because he didn't have much experience in dealing with that kind of situation. Most letters from school dealt with reports about his fights, or his truancy. When his mother ever got to see them – when he hadn't been quick enough to get the mail – it was either duck out or get yelled at. Ryan could be very quick on his feet when he had to. But this was different. And she was different.

He walked slowly to the kitchen counter, placed the letter on it and stepped back, eyeing his mom warily. He wished it didn't look so crumpled and so obviously opened and resealed. She was never going to buy that he hadn't read it.

"What's that, Ryan?"

"Letter from school, Mom. I was going to give it to you and I forgot," he mumbled. He wanted to get that part over and done with as soon as possible.

She picked it up and smoothed the envelope. "You want to tell me what it's about? Since you've obviously opened it."

Ryan just shrugged, keeping his eyes on her until she sighed and pulled the letter out to read it.

"SATs, huh? Isn't that what you need to get into college? What does your counsellor think, we're made of money?" But she didn't sound as abrasive as the old Dawn would have.

He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. "Read it, mom. Mr Salazar put something about scholarships in our area."

She frowned. "Don't you have to be top of your class to get a scholarship? Does your Mr Salazar think you've got what it takes?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't know, Mom. I guess." He chewed on his lower lip. "Look, you're right, it doesn't matter. They're expensive tests. Forget it." It had been a bad idea. Best to let it be. He started rummaging in his schoolbag, checking that he had everything he needed for the day.

"No, hon, hang on, that's not what I meant." Her voice was tentative. Sometimes Ryan swore he didn't recognise his own mother. It was like this new, softer version of her had taken over and while he knew it couldn't last, he couldn't stop himself from hoping. "What do you need to send to register?"

"Are you sure, Mom? I think it's like, eighty dollars or something." He didn't know how to react yet. Maybe she hadn't read the letter properly.

"Nothing's too good for my boy. But you better do well at these tests Ryan, or else..." She sent him a threatening look. Ryan grinned back, relief surging through him. That kind of threat he could handle.

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Three weeks later, Ryan sat the tests. Dawn was still clean, and was even promising to save money for college if there was any chance of a scholarship. Life had never been so good. The last time Trey had come by, he'd even commented on how impressed he was with their mother, and how relaxed Ryan looked.

"Bro', you look better than I've ever seen you, man. You're even filling out a little. Mom's really serious about this, huh?"

"I guess," Ryan said. "She's even started cooking again. Doesn't always work, but it makes a change."

Trey looked amused. "Are you saying I shouldn't have brought pizza?"

"Umm, no. But she's building up to a decent dinner. Maybe next time?" Ryan sounded hopeful.

Trey looked at him closely, concern showing in his eyes: "Hey, Ryan, you know... this might not last, huh? I've seen it before and –"

"It's been more than two months, Trey. She's never lasted that long before. I think she's really trying this time."

Trey sighed. "I hope you're right little bro'. But Ryan, don't bet on it. It's mom, remember?"

Ryan nodded. His good humour was a little deflated. Never mind. She would stick it this time. He was sure of it. Almost.

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Ryan looked at the envelope, turning it over and over between his fingers. He couldn't face opening it, even though he was pretty sure he'd done well. He tried to tell himself that he didn't really care, that there was no way that these scores would make any difference to his life, but he knew he was hoping for the best. He still couldn't believe that his mother had sprung eighty-something dollars to pay for him to sit the tests. All that new talk of college and saving and thinking about scholarships was still hard to believe. But potentially good. If he'd aced the tests, that was. Otherwise he was going to have to face a very angry Mom.

He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and sat down on the porch. A smoke would help steady his nerves, he figured. Just as he lit it, he heard a wolf-whistle from the house next door.

"Well if it isn't Ryan Atwood! What are you doing home on a Saturday afternoon, man? I thought you were working?" Theresa stood there grinning at him.

"Stock-taking at the warehouse. They didn't need me. What about you?"

She grimaced. "I had to take the day off to go to the dentist. Ugh. Two fillings. And my mouth is still numb. At least I get the afternoon free. Wanna hang out?" She crossed over and flopped down next to him on the steps.

He looked at her sideways. "Where's Eddie?"

"Garage. Like you care. Hey, what are you reading anyhow?" Theresa tried to read the envelope over his shoulder. "School stuff?"

Ryan swatted her away. "None of your goddamn business, chica." But Theresa was persistent.

"C'mon, stud. You're looking all broody and shit. What's it about?"

"Theresa, fuck off!" He bit his bottom lip, annoyed. Why was she being so damn inquisitive?

Theresa pouted at him, mock-angry. "Okay. But you know I'll find out eventually."

She made as if to leave and then lunged at him and snatched the envelope out of his hands, laughing, and ran out of his reach. He narrowed his eyes at her and debated briefly whether to chase her or finish his cigarette. The nicotine won, narrowly, and he settled for flipping her the finger. She was right – she would have found out sooner or later. Maybe she would open the letter and put him out of his misery.

"So, what have we here," Theresa said. "Oh wait, these are your test results, right?" She looked back at him and he nodded curtly.

"Want me to open it?"

Ryan looked away. She waited. Eventually, he gave a small shrug and she grinned at him and tore the envelope open. She scanned the papers inside, frowning. Suddenly she squealed with glee.

"Oh, Ryan, that's unbelievable. Wait..." She scanned further. "It says your scores are in, like, the 98th percentile here. That means..."

"What?" Ryan felt his heart lift. Ninety-eighth percentile? That was way better than he had hoped. He rubbed his face and smiled at Theresa. "You're not shitting me, right?"

"As if!" she retorted. "Oh Ry, you son of a bitch, you're so smart! That's fantastic!" She ran back at him, waving the letter, and hugged him. He hugged her back, elated.

It looked like it was going to be a good summer.

_TBC_


	2. Intimacy

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter.

So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he used to be the good boy? What happened?

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue._

_Thanks to my beta BonnieD for turning this around at top speed. _

_Thank you for the great reviews – keep 'em coming!_

_And for those of you who liked Happy!Ryan, sorry – he's checked out. But you get an R-rating this chapter if that helps._

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Chapter 2: Intimacy 

She was almost asleep when she heard the familiar tap at her window, just loud enough for her to notice but no one else. It had been a while, Theresa thought. She lay still for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea, whether her mother was sleeping, whether Arturo would hear anything. She thought about Eddie, who sure as hell wouldn't understand. She got up.

Ryan was pressed against the wall in the shadows, hand raised for another tap when she slid the window open. He looked freaked out, pale and nervous and his eyes kept darting back at his house over the backyard fence. When she leant out he glanced at her for a second with a look of such despair that her heart gave a lurch. It had to be really bad. Ryan hadn't come over like this in ages, not since things had gotten better at home. She never dared ask – he never told – but she'd seen enough next door to figure out that Dawn had been pretty sober recently, that her fucking boyfriend was out, and that Ryan was doing okay. More than okay, actually – it was the happiest she'd seen him in years. Until right now.

She held out a hand and helped him over the sill. He dropped to the floor and crouched there, breathing shallowly.

"What's up Ry?" she whispered. "You okay?"

Ryan nodded. "It's just... I wanted to get out for a while. I thought maybe..." He looked up at her and squinted, and she could see that he was trying to pretend everything was all right, that this was just a normal visit, a little hanging with Theresa time, like they used to do. He snaked a hand up her bare leg and attempted a grin, but she wasn't fooled.

"Don't shit me," she said, suddenly furious. "You don't come over for months and now it's like nothing ever changed? I'm seeing Eddie, remember? This..." she gestured at his hand on her thigh, "...this isn't us anymore. What the fuck is happening, Ryan?"

His face fell and she felt mean. All the more so since she could still sense the warmth of his hand on her skin, although he had dropped it back to his side. Damn, that boy knew how to push her buttons. But she wouldn't let him get away with this. She stared at him in the semi-darkness, frowning.

He spoke quietly, without looking at her, head hunched into his shoulders. "It's... Things aren't so cool at home tonight, okay? AJ's back."

"Oh, fuck." Theresa's heart sank further. She didn't know for sure why AJ had left but there had been an unholy row on the night Ryan's mom sent him packing and she knew for a fact that he dealt drugs from the house because Arturo told her so. She barely knew the guy but she hated him for what he did to Ryan, whose frequent black eyes and split lips were testimony to AJ's anger management issues.

No wonder Ryan looked fearful. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, impulsively. He went rigid, and she could just feel the tension radiating from him, then something gave and he relaxed into her embrace and rested his forehead on her shoulder. They had been there so often, Ryan bruised or angry or scared, escaping his shitty house and his shitty mom and his shitty life by coming to her. He never spoke much about what it was like, but he often sought comfort with her. It was the bedrock of their intimacy, together with the chemistry that kept them coming back to each other again and again since they first tested the waters together years ago.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was something about the smell of him which was instantly familiar; that mixture of smoke and lemony soap and clean skin, of cheap leather and fresh sweat and the underlying scent of boy, not quite man, that was Ryan. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed it until now.

When he started kissing her neck she almost brushed him off, then thought better of it. She kidded herself that he needed it too much for her to push him away, that he had nowhere else to go but she knew it was bullshit. She loved how he could turn her on without even trying and get her off every time like it was the most natural thing in the world. So unlike Eddie – but that was something she didn't want to think about right now. She surrendered with a shudder of recognition to his mouth on her neck, his lips hot on her skin, his teeth grazing her earlobe.

Theresa's mind was racing as they kissed feverishly, still kneeling on the floor, Ryan's hands snaking under her loose T-shirt to caress her breasts. She felt guilty for cheating on Eddie but then it was Ryan, so it didn't really count. Although Eddie might not see it like that. Eddie, who was already jealous of Ryan even though he didn't know the half of it. Eddie, whose careful lovemaking was perfectly satisfying but never exhilarating like this was.

Fuck Eddie. She moaned into Ryan's mouth as he let his hand slide down her body and past the waistband of her shorts. He knew exactly where to touch her, he always had. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm of his fingers, her breath uneven, ragged.

She just couldn't resist him, she thought fleetingly as she came, smothering her cry into his kiss. Then she slid down onto the floor and he rolled onto her with his warm, heavy, hard body and she was whispering incoherently into his neck as he pushed into her with a groan and moved with her. And he was fucking her, hard and silent but good and she was so tuned into him she could feel his pent-up anger and fear dissipating as he took her back up the rollercoaster – until she peaked again, biting his shoulder hard to stop herself screaming the house down. She felt him smile against her neck then, and he came too, hardly making a noise. And then they were both still but for their hearts beating wildly, chest to chest.

And Theresa wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it was that she and Ryan had, and how it was that she was going out with Eddie, and why it was that she always let Ryan do her without a condom but never Eddie, even though Ryan probably slept around more than Eddie did. But he swore he always used a condom with all the other girls and for some reason she believed him. Besides, she was on the pill so at least on that front she was safe.

Sometime early in the morning she felt him stir and kiss her softly and then he was gone as she turned over, spread her cramped limbs out and fell back into deep sleep.

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It was barely light but Ryan knew he had to leave. He could never stay at Theresa's – even if they had been going out together her mother wouldn't have allowed it. And he didn't want to stay this time, anyhow. He climbed out of the window with practised ease, crossed over to his house and sat on the front steps. He had no idea what to do next.

Sleeping with Theresa had been good, just what he needed to forget why he left last night, but now it was fucking morning and he had to deal with reality again. He could feel his heart pounding when he thought of what AJ's presence really meant.

The worst thing was, he'd been getting used to coming home and not having to check everything. He'd been feeling confident. Relaxed even. And then he'd opened the door only to see fucking AJ sitting on the couch like he belonged there again, and Mom sitting next to him laughing, no, giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. And she never, ever giggled sober. And suddenly all the bullshit of the previous weeks was just that, bullshit, and Ryan wanted to bang his head against the wall because he had been such a fucking stupid asshole to believe even for a second that things were going to get better.

He still hoped beyond hope that it could be a one-off, that AJ was just paying some sort of friendly visit, except that in any version of Ryan's life worth living, AJ would never come round for a friendly visit, ever.

Ryan dug into his pockets, searching for a cigarette to keep him occupied as he weighed his options. AJ had spent the night, that was clear enough, because his fucking pick up truck was out front. The thought of him sleeping in the house again made Ryan want to throw up. There was no way Dawn would've let AJ spend the night unless they were back together. And there was no way they were back together unless she'd abandoned all pretence of being clean. Because AJ wasn't the kind of guy you hung around with if you wanted to stay away from booze or drugs. Or flying fists, for that matter.

Ryan felt suddenly tired, like the weight of ages had landed on his shoulders with no warning at all. If he was honest with himself, he felt like crying, too. Except that he hadn't cried since he was about six and his father had told him off for being a damn sissy. In his mind's eye, he could see all the plans he'd been building over the past months falling down, all his dreams of getting out of Chino, of maybe going to college and getting a decent job being shredded and scattered to the four winds.

He was still there in a black mood several cigarettes later when Theresa came out with her bike, ready for school. She walked over, and he could tell she was forcing herself to smile and look cheerful. He hated her for it, even though he knew he was being unfair.

"So, Atwood, school not cool enough for you or what? C'mon, it's only the last week. Why give up now?"

He squinted up at her. "Why fucking bother?" It wasn't like his GPA was going to count one way or another now, he wanted to add, because his fucking mom was back to being a no-good drunk and his life was back to shit.

"It'll keep you out of the house?" She smiled at him, brown eyes full of concern. Ryan bristled. He didn't need her pity. He shouldn't have gone to her, shouldn't have cracked. They weren't even fucking these days, now she hung with Eddie and pretended to be all grown-up. Last night had been a fluke. He didn't want to be a charity fuck.

"Yeah, well I can always go hang out somewhere else. I don't give a fuck about school, Theresa. Fuck making an effort. I'm tired of it."

"You don't even know if he's back for good," she said softly.

"What's it look like?" He looked back at her, bitter. She dropped her bike on the ground and went to sit next to him. He stiffened immediately and looked away.

"Don't be like this, Ry."

"Theresa – look, thanks for last night but – I just want to be alone."

"Thanks?" She scowled at him. "Thanks for last night but fuck off? What kind of a jerk are you, Atwood? I mean, I know it sucks but it's not my fucking fault, is it? Do you have to be so goddamn insulting?" She was still speaking low, but her tone was angry. She had quite a temper on her.

He sighed. "I didn't mean it like this. I just can't deal with people today."

"Yeah, well, next time, think before you open your mouth. You're such a fucking boy sometimes." Theresa got up, still scowling and picked up her bike, refusing to look back at him. Ryan watched her pedal off, eyes narrowed. He felt like a shit, but to be honest, it was hardly the most pressing thing on his mind right now. He wanted out of the house before his mom and AJ woke up. That was one reunion he wanted to postpone as long as he could.

He slipped in through the front door, silently, and made his way to his bedroom, trying not to notice the empty bottles of beer on the table, the overflowing ashtrays and – his stomach cramped at the sight – a ball of singed foil on the kitchen counter. If AJ had talked her into freebasing coke Ryan might as well give up on any semblance of a normal life. Jesus, how could she lose it so fast? He could hear Trey's voice in his head: "It's Mom, remember?" How the fuck could he have forgotten? Mom never took things slowly – it was all or nothing.

He crept past her bedroom door – he could hear AJ snoring, for fuck's sake – and slunk into his bedroom where he stuffed a few clothes and basics into a backpack. He was on his way back out when a floorboard creaked and he heard a sleepy voice call out his name. He froze. Damn. So much for a quick exit.

"Hey baby, is that you?"

"Yeah. I'm off to school, mom, I'm late."

"Wait up, hon." He could hear her shuffling inside, probably looking for her robe. She looked rough when she finally made it out, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara, her face puffy with sleep and her hair matted and messy. He clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the bite marks on her neck. He was glad he hadn't spent the night and been forced to listen to her and AJ making up in bed.

She looked anxiously at him "Ryan, honey, I wanted to explain last night but you took off... I know what this looks like but I swear it ain't what you think."

"Yeah, mom, whatever." He really didn't want to be discussing this now, outside the bedroom, with AJ's snores hovering over their conversation.

"Sweetie, I know you and AJ don't get along, but he's changed, baby, he really has." With each word Ryan felt his irritation rising. He just itched to be outside – away from all this. "He's promised he'll make an effort. He says he's missed me, he's missed us, and..."

"Yeah right, I'm sure he's missed me, mom." Ryan spoke through gritted teeth. "I've got to go, please, give me a break." He tried to walk on but she held on to his arm.

"Ryan, " she pleaded, her voice whiny, "I know you're pissed. But it's not that bad. We were just having a little celebration last night... I can keep it under control. Come on, can't a girl have a little fun now and then?" He recognised the words he'd heard again and again in the past. Lies, every time.

Something snapped in Ryan. He turned to face his mother, angry and upset enough that he no longer bothered to control his voice. "Mom, don't give me that bullshit. You know you can't. And I don't know what he told you to get back in here but have you forgotten why you kicked him out in the first place? Doesn't he have another fucking family to look after anyhow? Jesus, mom, this time I thought you were serious about this!" His voice cracked and he took a deep breath, afraid of breaking down if he went on. Suddenly Ryan realised he could no longer hear AJ snoring and the back of his neck prickled. He better leave before the big man had a chance to come out.

Dawn stood there, stock-still, a sheepish look on her face. She made as if to open her mouth but he shook his head and pushed past her towards the front door. He didn't want to hear any more of her apologies. And he sure as hell didn't want to stay and see her crash and burn in agonising close-up.

It was time to take shelter at Trey's.


	3. Boyz N the Hood

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

_Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter._

_So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?_

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue._

_Thanks to my beta BonnieD. _

_Thank y'all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing, it's such an incentive to keep going!_

_Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references. _

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_Chapter 3: Boyz N the Hood_

There was no point calling his brother that early in the morning – Ryan was better off just turning up on his doorstep. He knew that going to Trey's was probably a bad idea in the long run, but at this point, staying home was worse. He let himself out of the house without a backward look, stuffing a half-full pack of cigarettes he found in the living room in his jeans and set off on his bike.

As he rode down the streets in the early morning light, he tried to think it through. School was pretty much over for the year so it didn't really matter if he blew off the rest of the week. Besides, what he'd said to Theresa was true – he was past caring. Fuck school.

This much he knew – he was done dreaming a way out of the shit-hole that was his life. He was done pretending he could escape the white trash existence he was so clearly destined for – why deny the genes? So his mom was a doped-up alcoholic with a cokehead boyfriend? So what? His dad was in jail and his big brother dealt drugs and jacked cars. It was the kind of family he came from. Ryan Atwood in college? Who was he kidding? It would never work. No one would ever buy it – not with that kind of history, no matter what his SAT scores said.

No, it was time to face up to reality. He wasn't going to get anywhere being the good kid. Not with his fucking mom selling out on him. He might as well try to learn something off Trey and start upping his street smarts. Maybe it was time to go and play with the big boys. At least if he hung with him Trey might stop treating him like a pussy.

By the time he pulled up in front of Trey's seedy apartment block, in one of Chino's less salubrious neighborhoods, he had almost convinced himself that this was the best way to go. He knocked on Trey's door with more confidence than he felt. His brother could be a bitch in the morning.

It took a good five minutes before a sleepy and clearly pissed off Trey yanked the door open.

"Ryan? The fuck... What time is it?"

"Um, eight, I guess? Sorry, man, but I kind of need your help." Ryan looked up at Trey through his lashes, a little uncertain. Trey stared back at him, still annoyed but at least he hadn't slammed the door shut.

"What's up?"

Ryan bit his bottom lip and looked down. "AJ."

"Shit." Trey's expression softened. "She took him back already?"

Ryan nodded, eyes still down.

"Stupid bitch," Trey muttered. He opened the door wide and motioned Ryan in, looking him up and down as he walked past him. "Did he...?"

"No. I left. And I guess he's still on his best behavior with Mom. But, Trey, she's, you know..." Ryan grimaced. He didn't want to say she was back on the booze. Because he knew that Trey would say 'I told you so' and he'd feel like a jerk for having bought it for so long. But Trey didn't say anything; he just pulled Ryan in for a one-armed hug, in a rare display of brotherly affection.

"So you want to crash here, little bro'?"

Ryan shrugged. He tried not to sound too pathetic. "Yeah, you know, just for a couple of days. Until I figure out what's happening."

"Man, with that fucker around, you can always stay here, you know that," Trey said with feeling as he made a half-hearted attempt at clearing some space on the living room floor for Ryan to dump his backpack. The place might as well have 'bachelor pad' stamped on it. It was a mess of empty pizza boxes, full ashtrays, half-full beer cans and stray clothes, with a pile of girlie and motor magazines in a corner, a few CDs strewn about, and on a low table – surrounded by dirty cups and dishes and more random crap – cigarette papers and an open bag of weed that Ryan eyed speculatively. Trey caught his glance.

"You want some? Go ahead. I'm going back to bed because I've only slept, I don't know, four hours tops and I need more. We can talk later. You know where all the shit is anyhow." He yawned and walked back to the bedroom. As he was about to go through the door he turned back to Ryan and smirked. "Oh, and don't, you know, walk in or anything. I've got company."

Ryan smirked back at the closing door and sat down on the couch, having cleared some space. He sighed as he looked at the mess around him. He hated crashing at Trey's because his brother was such a pig. And unlike home, he had nowhere to retreat from the chaos – just the living room, which meant he could only go to bed when everyone had left, and Trey liked to party. He might as well get stoned, he figured. It made it easier to put up with all the shit. Plus, right now, it was exactly what he needed. He rolled himself a large one, lit it and settled back on the couch, inhaling deeply. He hoped there was some still-edible leftover pizza somewhere in one of those boxes, because he was going to be very hungry pretty soon. Unless he fell asleep first.

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When Trey finally got up several hours later, his little brother was spread out on the coach dead to the world. In the ashtray next to him were the remnants of a couple of sizeable joints. Trey smiled to himself. Ryan didn't let himself go very often, but when he wanted to, he could indulge with the best of them.

The girl who'd spent the night – what was her name, Tina? – had just left. Trey had made it clear he didn't expect her to hang around, seeing as his brother had come over and there were family issues to discuss. It was as good an excuse as any to get rid of her, and it happened to be true. She'd gotten a lot of free drugs out of him anyhow so he didn't reckon she'd complain. And she seemed to have enjoyed the fun later, too.

Trey managed to find a couple of clean cups and made coffee in the dingy kitchen. He looked at Ryan sprawled on the couch, looking very young as he slept, and felt his chest tighten. What the fuck had Dawn done this time? She'd fallen off the wagon, okay, but how could she take back that bastard AJ, after all the times he'd beat up on Ryan? Sure, Ryan had a smart mouth, and hated AJ, and should've known better than to answer back to him, but it was his mom and his home, and the guy was making his life a misery, from what Trey could tell. It was too bad he was still at school and underage, and had to stay with Mom.

He walked over to the couch and shook Ryan gently by the shoulder. Ryan started and looked around, disorientated. Trey handed him a steaming cup.

"So, shouldn't you be at school or something?"

Ryan eyed him over the rim of the cup. "Since when do you care about school, Trey?" he asked, his voice even.

"Hey," Trey protested, "You're the one who's been making a big deal of it." And then he bit his lip, realizing how stupid he was being. Shit.

"Yeah. Well, it's not like it matters anymore." Ryan shrugged. He looked up at Trey then and his expression was blank. Trey felt uneasy. He'd never seen his brother this... detached. When Ryan got really upset or hurt he would sometimes fold back in on himself and close down, shut up and refuse to communicate altogether. He turned mute and hid away, like a wounded animal. But this emotionless response was something else.

"So, got any plans?"

Ryan didn't answer immediately. He sipped from his cup, staring into its depths. When he finally spoke Trey was again struck by how calm and cold his voice was. "I thought you and I could hang together, you know. You keep telling me I know jack about real life, so why don't you show me. I guess I could learn a couple of things off you." And then he looked straight at Trey with a defiant expression and Trey felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to tell Ryan that he was better off not knowing all the shit that came with the territory, because Ryan was still his baby brother – but he also knew that if anyone had to teach Ryan anything it should be him.

It wasn't much of a choice, actually.

"'Kay. I'll see what we can do about that later. But you're such a little bitch Ry, I don't know if I'll be able to make anything out of you," he said with a forced grin. He tried to put a spin on it, but he didn't like the idea that his smartass kid brother was headed his way. Trey was nothing if not a realist. Jacking cars and dealing pot in Chino was okay as far as he was concerned, but not the career path he would have chosen for Ryan. Because Ryan was smart, and soft, really, and not half as much of an asshole as Trey tried to pretend he was, and he had what it took to get out of Chino – if only he could get a break.

Ryan just closed his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day, they went to a pool hall nearby where the guys hung out – and where Trey did a fair amount of business. Ryan squared his shoulders as they walked in. It was that kind of place, where it paid to look a little meaner, and bigger, than he was. He had been there a couple of times for drinks with Trey – they never carded anyone, though, which was a definite bonus.

Arturo and Eddie were already shooting pool under a fug of smoke at one of the back tables. Eddie smiled as he saw Ryan.

"Hey kid, what're you doing here? Isn't school still on?"

Ryan shook his head at him. "Not really." He looked sideways at Trey. "Just hanging. Any chance of a game?"

They played a few games, Ryan easily holding his own even though the others had months of practice on him. He was good at calculating angles, thinking his shots through beyond the obvious, and at being discreet when he set one up for later. Eddie could sometimes figure that out – Trey and 'Turo not so often. After an hour, Ryan was twenty bucks up. You didn't _not_ play for money with these guys. He looked at the table meditatively, studying his next move.

"You hustling me, punk?" All of a sudden Arturo was in his face, looking menacing. Ryan took a step back, hands raised.

"Whoa! 'Turo?" Theresa's brother was shorter than him, but built like a brick shithouse. He could probably knock Ryan down in ten seconds flat. But he was smirking, so Ryan let his breath out. "Fuck you, man. What was that about?"

"I swear you are just like Trey, Ryan. Except that you keep your mouth shut and you can actually shoot pool, not just brag." Arturo said, lighting a cigarette.

Ryan snorted. "And how does that make me like him?" He leant over and lined up his shot as he talked, keeping his eye on the ball. Just as well Arturo was mad already because he was about to sink two in one.

"You're a sly little bastard, that's how," said Arturo. Then he noticed Ryan's move. "Fuck you, Ry! Okay, that's it. Next time you come round our house looking for a friendly face I'll kick your ass out."

Ryan froze. Did Arturo know about last night? No, impossible. For a start, he wouldn't have let Ryan sleep there. Arturo must have known Ryan slept with his little sister, but he'd never let it happen under his nose. He'd almost caught them once, a year ago, in her bedroom, and it hadn't been pretty. Ryan and he didn't talk about it, and now that Eddie was dating Theresa, it was unlikely he'd let anything like that go by. No, it was a chance remark. He focused on his cue and potted the balls smoothly. Trey laughed and smacked him on the back.

"Shit, Ryan, you keep doing this I swear I'll take you out on the scam for real. You're about ripe for some hustling, bro'. I know this place up in Chino Hills where we could make some good money."

"Who's that 'we' you're talking about Trey?" Ryan shot back. "If I have to win back the money you'll lose us on the tables we're not going to go very far."

Eddie and Arturo both cracked up at that. "Hey, Trey, remember that time at Larry's?" Arturo said. "You ended up begging that bitch girlfriend of yours for enough money to keep those fucking bikers off your ass."

Trey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks for the brotherly support, you shithead." He picked up his cue and started looking for an easy shot.

Ryan picked up his beer and sipped it, smirking. It wasn't so bad, hanging with Trey and Arturo and Eddie. Sure, he was still the little brother, but in the past year he'd made the transition from annoying little kid to being one of the guys. They still talked over his head sometimes, but he'd earned some respect. He could play a good game of pool; he could beat them at cards; he could smoke and drink with them without puking; and – that was the clincher – he wasn't bad at getting laid, either.

Ryan wasn't quite the pussy hound that his big brother was – shit, Trey was always looking to get some – but since last summer, when he'd worked construction and bulked up, his luck had changed. He found out, much to his surprise, that he was no longer the scrawny kid ignored by the girls (well, apart from Theresa, which was a different thing altogether), but that he could score with the pretty girls at parties. And _that_ carried street cred with Trey and his friends.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan was forty dollars up by the time they called it an evening – a good thing since he'd been flat broke – which meant he got to buy the beers on the way back to Trey's. They always ended back there – Arturo still lived at home, and Eddie, the only one of the three with a proper job, balked at having to kick everyone out when he needed to go to bed. Also, Trey had a shiny new DVD player and a stash of DVDs thanks to one of his "business deals". And he _always_ had weed.

"So what have you got, man?" Arturo said as soon as they walked in. "I'm in the mood for something, you know, cool. Maybe some music, man. Got any nice new DVDs in your stash?"

"Oh, I know what you're gonna want to watch, 'Turo." Trey knelt down by the TV and started sorting though the pile of DVD cases before shoving one into the player. "Ryan, roll us a joint."

When the film started, Ryan let out a groan. "Not fucking _8 Mile_ again, Trey! I swear you're obsessed with Eminem, man."

"Shut up, bitch. And get this joint started instead of pissing and moaning."

Ryan lit up and sank back into the couch. No one else was complaining, so he was going to have to put up with it. The problem was, that film reminded him altogether too much of the home he was escaping – drunk mom and violent boyfriend included – for him to enjoy it. Although it didn't seem to bother Trey. The similarities didn't escape the other two, either, as the film played on.

"Man, Kim Basinger _is_ your mom," Arturo muttered, before he was silenced by a swift kick from Eddie. Ryan stared stolidly at the screen and inhaled deeply, keeping the smoke in his lungs as long as possible. He tried to focus on the music rather than the action. Yeah, Kim Basinger _was _his fucking mom. Only more fucking glamorous.

"So whassup, man, seriously?" Eddie asked when the credits were rolling. "I mean, what happened? I thought your mom was going straight."

Ryan didn't reply immediately. Eddie shot him a thoughtful look "Sorry, Ryan, none of my business," he said, seeing his discomfort.

Ryan shrugged. "Didn't work out. It's not like it was a big surprise anyway."

Eddie nodded and slapped him on the back sympathetically. "Shit happens, man. Hey, have another beer."

Ryan took the bottle and knocked it against Eddie's. "Thanks, dude," he muttered before taking a gulp. Eddie smiled at him before turning back to the TV. Trey was back at the DVDs, this time looking for porn, he'd announced. Just as well, thought Ryan. That at least was safe. And fuck, he was feeling buzzed and a little horny anyhow.

He took another sip and looked around him. The guys were bantering with each other, laughing, waving cigarettes and bottles in the air. He could do this. As long as he didn't think about it too much, this was cool. Getting drunk and stoned and shooting pool or watching porn with the guys was kind of fun. Stupid, but fun. It also meant he functioned in a blur, the kind of blur that made it easier not to think about things. Things like his future. Or, indeed, his present. Also, it would make crashing on Trey's lumpy couch much less unpleasant.

On the other hand, Ryan knew that at some point he was going to have to sober up and face the music. Like sorting something out with his mom, and getting his hands dirty with Trey's business. And no matter how much he tried to talk himself into it, Ryan wasn't entirely comfortable with that. But it's not like he had any choice.


	4. Road to Perdition

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

_Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter._

_So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?_

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue._

_Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta!_

_Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing._

_Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references. _

_Oh, and 60sChic – here's to you, clone! This is Chino - so don't expect too much. But I hope it amuses you. _

_----- -- - ---------- - - - - ----- - - --- - -- - --------- - -- - -- -_

_Chapter 4: Road to Perdition. _

It didn't take long for Trey to introduce Ryan to the business. A couple of days later, he decided it was time Ryan met his associates – as Trey liked to call them. Ryan preferred to think of them as suppliers. The main one was some Jamaican dude called Earl whom Ryan had heard of, but never seen. He was a little nervous at the prospect, even though it was just a visit to make his face known. All of a sudden it felt real; he wasn't pretending any more – he was becoming a drug dealer.

On the plus side, he got to drive Trey's ancient (but lovingly restored) Trans Am, because Trey figured it would be a good occasion to get really wasted on Earl's personal stash – not the stuff he sold to white boys, the real ganja from back home.

"Just checking you can still handle a stick shift, bro'," Trey said, throwing him the keys. "It's not like you get to do much driving these days. You gotta lot of catching up to do."

Ryan didn't reply. He didn't mind doing driver duty for Trey – after his bike and his Mom's rusty heap, it made a nice change to drive a car with some power under the hood. Trey and Arturo had spent many a weekend messing around with it over the last year, and it showed. Ryan felt a thrill as he engaged the clutch and the Trans Am pulled away from the curb with a low growl. He was a teenage boy driving a fast car, and it felt good. He drove down a couple of side streets, looking for a stretch of quiet road where he could let the engine show its power. Trey yawned like a cat in the seat next to him and lit a cigarette.

"Look, Ry, give it a spin, okay, but don't fucking get us stopped by the cops, huh? I have way more cash on me than I'd like to explain to them."

Ryan shrugged. He knew what he could get away with in Chino, and where, without being completely reckless. But when he let rip and sped up all the way into fourth down a deserted street lined with empty warehouses, he felt a rush like sex, and he just wanted it to go on, and for the rest of his Chino life to stay behind while he raced on ahead. He turned a corner with a screech of brakes into another straight empty road, gunning the engine as he pulled out of the curve, keeping the illusion of escape going as long as possible.

Eventually they made it to Earl's place, a low unassuming house not unlike his home. Trey got out of the car and stretched out and Ryan felt his heart stop. As Trey raised his arms, his loose shirt rode up, exposing a bulge in his waistband. An unmistakable bulge.

"For fuck's sake, Trey, since when are you packing?" he whispered.

Trey glanced at him and looked away. "None of your business, kid."

"The fuck it isn't. I'm in this with you. And if the shit hits the fan, I'm stuck here with you and your piece. I mean, what _is_ this Earl guy like?" Ryan was shocked. And scared. He hated guns. And he really didn't want to think that this was what he'd signed up for when he turned up at his brother's.

"He's fine if you play it by the rules. I just like to have a little insurance in case we run into trouble."

"Insurance," Ryan repeated. "Yeah, well to me it looks more like a fucking liability. Do you even know how to use that thing?"

Trey shrugged. "Yes. Now will you shut up, you little bitch? We have some business to do."

Ryan could feel his heart beating way faster than normal as they walked up to the door. The gun freaked him out. And the whole situation was intense enough as it was. It wasn't that big a deal, in any sense of the word. He'd been around when Trey had had dealers come round, or clients; and this time they were just scoring a few ounces of weed to top up their stash – nothing spectacular. But he knew that was it – for the first time, Trey was taking him seriously enough to get him involved in a deal. And _that_ was a big symbolic step.

For all his bad boy attitude and street punk looks, Ryan was actually fairly tame when it came to actual law-breaking. Sure, he drank some, he smoked, and he took drugs – hell, getting stoned and getting laid was as good a way as any to spend a Saturday night in Chino – but by and large he'd steered clear of the serious end of the business. Not anymore. He felt like he was joining the family firm – Atwood Brothers, Inc, petty criminals. He felt like a jerk. And he fucking hated the fact that Trey was armed.

The guy who opened the front door was about 6'6", and looked forty if he was a day. He had a headful of dreadlocks stuffed into a huge knitted cap and a near-impenetrable Jamaican accent. And he smelled of high-grade, THC-heavy marijuana. Ryan assumed he was Earl. Trey high-fived him.

"This is my bro', Ryan. He's going to be working with me."

Earl didn't say anything. He just looked at Ryan through heavy-lidded eyes, and nodded. Ryan nodded back. They walked in, and Ryan nearly choked on the pungent smell of grass that pervaded the house.

There were another two Jamaican rastas in the living room. Ryan couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but judging by the bouts of laughter, they were having fun. He scanned the room quickly, nervous. On a low glass table he could see several bags of weed, some scales, a bag of white powder – which he hoped wasn't out for Trey – some smoking paraphernalia, a couple of large, full, ashtrays, and a gun. Another fucking gun.

He sat on an overstuffed white leather couch next to Trey and tried to relax and pay attention at the same time. Earl was weighing grass on the scales while Trey shook some of the weed on the table and examined it. It looked pretty good to Ryan, tight sticky-looking buds and plenty of them. Trey never skimped on the quality of his weed if he could help it.

"It's the usual stuff, man. It's good gear," Earl said. "But if you want something nice, have a toke on this." And he flourished a large cone-shaped spliff at Trey, who took it with a smile.

"This I keep for I," said Earl. And he smiled at them. He had the kind of grin that was in equal parts welcoming and disquieting, thought Ryan, depending on which side of paranoia you happened to be sitting at that point. After a couple of drags on that carrot-sized joint, he expected Earl would look pretty fucking scary.

They whiled away an hour or so, Ryan desperately trying not to get too stoned. After a couple of tokes, he wanted to opt out altogether but the joints kept being offered to him and he figured it was easier to take a puff now and then. Clearly, he wasn't the only one driving – and that didn't seem to make any difference to the other guys' consumption. He didn't want to seem like a complete pussy or offend anyone, either. Maybe he _was_ starting to get paranoid.

Finally, after handing over cash, shaking hands and making appreciative noises about the general quality of Earl's wares, Trey was ready to go and Ryan summoned every ounce of his remaining concentration for the drive home. He was glad to be out of the house and away from that gun on the table, but he was also very aware that he couldn't afford to fuck up. He was stoned, very much so, and Trey was carrying a gun and drugs. If they got stopped they were in serious trouble – especially Trey, who had priors.

Ryan drove home in complete silence, eyes focused on the road ahead, careful not to drive too fast or indeed, too slowly. He avoided busy roads where his sluggish reflexes might be caught out. He hated driving stoned, but it looked like he might have to get used to it. Apparently, it came with the job. Inside him, it felt like another little piece of his self was crumbling away.

---- - - ------- - - ---- - -- ---------- - - ------------ - - ---- ---

Back at Trey's he zoned out while Trey rambled on about how great that Jamaican shit was, and did he notice how Earl talked to him like an equal because, dude, he got respect from those guys even though he was a white boy and... Ryan tuned him out after a while because Trey could drone on like there was no tomorrow when he was high, and he'd been the captive listener all too often.

He slouched there, eyes closed, reliving the afternoon in his mind, and fighting the depression he could feel creeping up on him, like a dark tide. This is what his life was shaping up to be. This is what following in Trey's footsteps meant. Hanging with dealers, getting wasted, avoiding the cops, getting used to the presence of guns. Waiting for the moment when it all went wrong and came crashing to the ground. Trey had had a couple of close calls already – no doubt Ryan would, too.

But it was better than watching his mom drink herself stupid; better than listening to her and AJ fucking or fighting in the bedroom next to his; better than having to get home through his bedroom window to avoid the coke dealing in the living room, or than dodging AJ's fists when the coke ran out. He just had to keep remembering that.

And there were perks. For instance, there was never a shortage of girls at Trey's. And Ryan had already found out that they weren't just interested in his brother, either. It bugged him a little that part of the attraction was the drugs but he wasn't above flirting with the pretty ones. And if getting laid was also something that came with the job – that had to be a good thing, right?

As if on cue the doorbell rang.

"You get it, dude," Trey said from the depth of the couch. "I ain't moving." He'd been smoking some more since they got back, relying on Ryan, who was trying to sober up, to weigh and bag the stuff. Ryan figured he'd be the one doing a lot of the actual work involved from now on – not that it was too taxing.

He looked at Trey wearily and got up to open the door, admitting two giggling girls. He knew one of them, an ex-girlfriend of Trey's called Barb, dark-haired and chatty, with a dirty laugh that was infectious. The other, a busty redhead with extravagant cleavage, introduced herself as Cheryl.

"Well if it isn't Trey's little brother," Barb exclaimed. Ryan sucked on his upper lip, embarrassed. "Well hon, aren't you grown-up these days!"

He grimaced back at her. "Thanks, I guess." He still didn't know how to respond to that kind of comment, which happened more often than he'd expected when he decided to move in with Trey. Trey had a lot of ex-girlfriends who remembered him, apparently.

The girls swept into the apartment in a cloud of cigarette smoke, perfume and chatter. Trey smiled at the intrusion from where he was sprawled. Women were always welcome in his house – he was never one to pass up an opportunity for sex, however unlikely.

"Hey, ladies, what can I do you for?" he called out. "If you're here for merchandise, you're in luck. I've got some really fine stuff just in. My man Ryan here can roll you a little sample. In the meantime, why don't you lovelies come and join me on this here couch."

Trey's unashamed cheesiness made Ryan cringe. It amazed him how often it worked, though. In the few days since he'd moved in, his brother had only slept alone on the one night, as far as he could tell, and not twice with the same girl, either.

It didn't fail this evening. A couple of hours later, Ryan found himself staring at music videos with Barb as Trey groped Cheryl unashamedly on the couch. Just as it threatened to turn into a floorshow, Barb got up.

"Guys, I hate to cramp your style, but Cher, I need a ride home, doll. 'Cause I'm not going to hang here and watch you get it on, much as I love the pair of you." She sounded amused, but determined. Trey looked up at her and smirked.

"Ryan can give you a lift home. Can't you?" And he shot Ryan a glance that stated clearly that no wasn't an option. "He'll take good care of you, babe."

Ryan sighed and got up. "Sure. But you better not be having sex on the couch when I get back, man. This is where I sleep."

Trey flipped him the bird as he left with Barb.

------------------- --- - - - - ----- --- ------------- - - ---

The ride home didn't take long, Barb directing him through the deserted streets. When he reached her house, he pulled up in front and looked over at her, the engine idling. "This okay?"

She smiled at him, her eyes predatory. Ryan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable and suddenly aware that he was a still a little stoned and more than a little horny. He'd had a thing about her since way back, when she used to go out with Trey. So he was half-hoping that yes, she was coming on to him, and also half-dreading it. Because, well, she was Trey's ex, and that was a bit weird. And then she licked her lips and he realized that the hoping had won, and that his jeans were tighter than they should be. She reached over and deliberately turned the key and killed the engine. Ryan's mouth went dry.

Barb was pretty, in a pouty kind of way. She had those really full, glossy lips which Ryan couldn't stop staring at. She licked them again, this time looking at Ryan's crotch in the most direct and unambiguous way possible, and he got really hard. He could feel himself blushing, too.

"Um," he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I... I should go back, Barb. Is here cool?"

"You know," she said, clearly not paying attention to a word he said, "I always thought you were cuter than Trey." Yeah, thought Ryan, and I used to jerk off listening to the two of you fucking in the other bed when Trey smuggled you in and you thought I was sleeping. He'd learnt to be stealthy, then, bringing himself off in time with her not-so-muffled moans and coming silently, face down in his pillow.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and leant across the front seat towards him. Ryan felt out of sync with reality, as if his brain and his body were working on different planes. He wanted to move, to respond, but he was rooted to the spot. Barb was looking mischievous.

"Hey, Ryan," she whispered into his ear, tickling him, "I heard you getting off once when I was making out with Trey in your room. And it was just so hot. I've always wanted to tell you that."

Before Ryan could process what she was saying she kissed him. When her lips touched his he reacted instinctively and kissed her back, while his brain was desperately reasoning that no, she couldn't possibly read his mind. Also, she was a good kisser, and the way she sucked on his tongue he guessed she probably gave good blowjobs, too.

Again, as if she'd read his thoughts, her hands slipped down to his belt buckle and his breath hitched when she touched him though his jeans, her long nails grazing the fabric and teasing his erection. Wow, Barb was a fast worker. And a nimble one, too, as her fingers reached skin and his pulse went up a notch. He wasn't going to last long at this rate. Especially when the memories of his horny fourteen-year-old self kept breaking into his addled brain.

"So... I guess this is something I've been wanting to do for a long time," she said.

And she smiled at him with a dirty look and her lips were oh so inviting and then his heart stopped as she dipped her head into his lap and took him in that mouth of hers. Ryan hissed and just tipped his head back, closing his eyes because the sensation, magnified by the cannabis buzz, was un-fucking-believable and Christ could she give head.

When he came he dug his nails in his palm to stop himself from crying out loud and it lasted for what felt like an eternity. He kept his eyes closed while his hammering heart returned to a steadier beat. He was wondering whether he should return the favor or whether she expected some serious backseat action but when he finally opened his eyes she was back in her seat and looking at him with a smirk.

"Er, thanks?" he managed. He smiled awkwardly and leant towards her. He kissed her neck. She smelled of cheap perfume, but it didn't really bother him, as it would have normally. "Can I...?" He raised his eyebrows at her, letting his fingers trail down her thigh in a light caress.

She shook her head. "No, babe. I just wanted to know what Trey's baby brother was like now you're all grown up. Plus I like me a taste of jailbait," she teased. And with that she pecked him quickly on the cheek and let herself out, leaving him unzipped and still breathless in the front seat.

Christ, he really was turning into Trey.


	5. Faceoff

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

_Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter._

_So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?_

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc... are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue._

_Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta!_

_Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing._

_Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references. _

_--------- - ---- ------------ ----------------- ---------_

_Chapter 5: Face-off_

A week on, Ryan had settled into his new routine. As he suspected, Trey had seized the opportunity and landed most of the work on him. So Ryan drove up to see Earl – he'd been twice already on his own, because the summer party season was on and the supplies were selling fast; Ryan carried the cash and the grass around; and Ryan got to weigh it and bag it. Trey did most of the actual selling, but Ryan did the accounts. Which considering it meant prying cash off Trey so they could afford the next batch, was actually a challenge. Nothing compared to getting the rent money off a drunk Dawn, though, so Ryan considered himself lucky.

He'd gone back home once in that time to pick up a few things, check that his room and his stuff were there and tell his mom that he was doing okay. She was pretty straight that day and seemed satisfied that Trey was looking after him. All in all, the meeting had been surprisingly friendly. Ryan ended up staying the night – and reveling in the comfort of sleeping in a bed again. Of course, AJ hadn't been around that night – which had helped. It also meant that if all hell broke loose at Trey's – always a distinct possibility, judging by past events – he still had a place of sorts there.

In the meantime – well, life wasn't all bad. Trey had threatened to take him car-jacking some night but hadn't yet – just as well, because Ryan wasn't looking forward to that particular lesson. There had been a few more parties, a couple of friendly girls, a shitload of weed and more than a few beers. It was summer, and Ryan was chilling out. For the first time in a long time, he didn't have a job. At all. Apart from the dealing, but that wasn't much of a chore, compared to the previous summer, which he'd spent on a construction site. And that felt weird, but it also felt like a vacation.

He was "working" one afternoon, bagging grass, when Eddie dropped by. Trey was out doing some unspecified business – there were still areas that Ryan was not involved in – and Ryan welcomed the distraction. Eddie was easy conversation; they'd shoot the shit – talking about sports, or cars, or Trey's endless supply of women, which never failed to impress Eddie. By some sort of unspoken agreement, they never mentioned Theresa. Ryan sometimes wondered how much Eddie knew about him and Theresa. He was sure she wouldn't have said anything – but Trey might have. Or Arturo. Either way, he did not want to find out. Not when the memory of their last hook-up was still fresh in his mind.

"So, man, how's it hanging?" Eddie asked, sinking into the couch opposite Ryan.

Ryan shrugged. "Okay, I guess. You want some?" He nodded towards a half-smoked joint on the table. Eddie smiled and picked it up. As he lit it and inhaled he made a face, and started coughing.

"Jesus, Ryan, what is this?"

"That's Trey's personal. Pretty good, when you get used to it."

Eddie frowned. He took another couple of drags and looked at the spliff, then back at Ryan.

"So, you're smoking this stuff all day?"

"Huh? Sometimes, I guess. It's not like I need to be straight to do this."

Eddie was looking wary. "Ryan, man, you sure you're okay?"

Ryan scooped up the grass from the scales with a piece of card and filled the bag before ziplocking it. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because, _this_," and he gestured at the joint, the scales, the stash of weed, the neat little bags on the table, "this isn't you, Ryan. This is Trey. And you've never been _that_ similar before."

Ryan kept his eyes fixed on the weed, weighing the next lot. "So? People change."

"Yeah, well, it's not the nicest of changes, Ryan. You don't look that happy."

"I'm fine."

"Look, kid, I've known you since you were, what, eleven? You're not a stoner like Trey. Why are you even trying?" Eddie sounded frustrated.

Ryan stayed silent.

"I mean, you were doing good at school, you were always the straight kid, heading for better things, and now look at you. I know your mom..." Eddie trailed off as Ryan looked up for a fraction of a second, with a flash of anger, and then away again.

"I'm fine, Eddie. Drop it," he said testily.

Much to Ryan's relief, Eddie sighed, and got up. But he couldn't let it go.

"It kills me to see you fuck you up your life like that, Ryan," he said – and this time he put his hand on Ryan's shoulder, compelling him to look up at him. Ryan clenched his jaw, but held the stare. "Listen, if it's money you need – I know it's not great, but I'm sure I can get you a job in the garage for the summer."

"Thanks but no thanks," Ryan snorted. "If I wanted a job with long hours and shit pay I could have stuck with my Saturday one. I'm done doing that, Eddie. Have you ever thought that maybe Trey's got it right?"

He glanced away then, furious at himself because he knew he sounded stupid and self-conscious and like a fucking kid.

Eddie shook his head. "No, man, I haven't. Because, Ryan – in a year, two years tops, Trey's going to be in jail, or in hospital with a couple of broken legs or worse, because one of his dealer friends got the wrong idea." He stopped and looked hard at Ryan again, before continuing. "And the way it's going, you'll be with him. I hate to see that, Ryan. I know it's not really my place to say anything – but I can't see you doing this to yourself and say nothing."

"Yes, you can," Ryan snapped back "And you're right, it's not your place. So just fuck off and leave me alone, okay?" Because, of course, Eddie was right, and Ryan really didn't want to think about where he'd be a year from now.

"'Kay," Eddie muttered, and he slammed the door shut as he left.

---------- - - ----------- ------------ -------- ------ - --- ---- - ---------------------

The next day, Trey kicked Ryan out for the night.

"I've got some guys coming over, Ryan, and they're kind of serious. They don't know you yet and..." He shifted about, looking uncomfortable.

"I thought you were all about introducing me to your associates?" Ryan said. He suspected Trey was holding something back.

"Yeah, but not yet. Not these guys. Gattas is – kind of paranoid. He doesn't like new faces." And Trey still looked like he was lying though his teeth but Ryan let it slide, not really caring one way or another.

"I'll go see Mom," he shrugged.

"I'll drive you," Trey said, unexpectedly. Fuck, thought Ryan, there really was something going on tonight. He wasn't sure he wanted to know about it, but it pissed him off that Trey was so willing to cut him out of the loop if they were supposed to be partners.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, Ryan didn't like it.

The ride home was quick and silent. Trey didn't stop long but just dropped him off with his bike and pulled off in a screech of tires. He always drove like he was in some goddamn seventies car-chase movie.

Ryan eyed the front door apprehensively. This time, AJ's pick-up was outside, and there was little chance that he was out without his ride. Still, it was mid-afternoon, possibly the best time to face the fucker – after he'd shaken his morning hangover, and before he started getting seriously high.

He put his key in the lock and slowly opened the door, holding onto it with his fingertips so that it shut behind him as noiselessly as possible.

AJ was sprawled on the couch, beer in hand, watching some stupid cop show. Ryan's mom was nowhere to be seen. But her car too had been out front, so she couldn't be far.

"Hey," Ryan said, nodding at the back of AJ's head. His chest felt tight and he could almost hear his heart hammering. He hated AJ, and he was scared of him, and he _really_ hated that he was scared of him.

AJ barely looked at him. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" he asked, but without much malice or enthusiasm. Ryan felt the tightness ease a little. Maybe this time would be okay. There were countless nights where AJ didn't decide to whale on him. They were not, however, as memorable as the ones where he did.

He shrugged and muttered something noncommittal as he walked across the room. AJ had already turned his back on him and was staring at the TV, swigging from the can mechanically. He looked barely fucking human, Ryan thought, and he repressed the shudder of disgust that overcame him when he thought of AJ and his mom together.

Ryan holed up in his room for the rest of the afternoon, stretched out on his bed, reading old magazines and watching TV. He'd missed having his own space just to relax – Trey was always around at the apartment, and there were hangers-on every evening. Ryan needed his alone time – and if it meant that he had to put up with the piece of shit outside his bedroom door, so be it. He could always avoid him.

Or so he thought.

It turned out to be one of AJ's bad nights. Some guy hadn't turned up with cash he owed, and the big man was getting angry. Even through his closed door, Ryan could figure out that the evening was panning out nasty. He hoped against hope that Dawn wasn't headed for some stupid-ass fight with AJ because that always ended up with him having to intervene and getting his ass kicked.

"Fuck you," Ryan heard her screech, and then the thumping noise that he knew meant AJ had belted her one.

Every fucking time, he thought tiredly, and he got up and opened the door. Because, really, no matter how fucked up she was, and how much he hated her for what she'd done to him, he couldn't pretend she wasn't his mom, getting beaten up by her coke-dealing thug of a boyfriend, ten feet away. And he couldn't let that pass.

He stepped into the living room, staying close to the wall. AJ was still on the couch, but looking decidedly nastier than when Ryan had come in. Dawn was sitting next to him, holding her cheek, which was red, and she was cursing him.

"You think I don't know how much money Gary owes you? I told you not to trust that asshole, you motherfucker," she was screaming at him.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" AJ said, and he slapped her again, but without too much enthusiasm, Ryan noted. Just because he held back with her, though, didn't mean he wouldn't let rip with him.

"Hey, AJ," he called out.

AJ looked up, his face blank. As he focused on Ryan, emotions flitted across his features – anger, disbelief, and also a sort of resignation. Here we go again, he seemed to think. Yeah, that's exactly how it felt, thought Ryan

"Leave her alone," he said with as much confidence as he could muster. He let his hands ball into fists at his sides. As long as he managed to land a punch or two, it was kind of worth it. Plus AJ would generally leave Dawn be if he vented his anger elsewhere.

"Yeah? Or what, punk?" AJ stood up. He was an ugly motherfucker all right. A big ugly motherfucker. Ryan drew a deep breath in and braced himself.

"Don't. Fucking. Hit. My. Mom," he spat out. And as he said the words, he felt anger coursing through his veins, white hot, and he knew he'd be able to cope with whatever AJ did to him. As long as he just used his fists.

He ducked the first swing and landed one on AJ's chin, snapping his guard back in time to stop the next punch hitting his face. AJ's next one, though, hit straight through and whacked him in the jaw. Ryan staggered back into the wall, and caught another one to the face before slipping out of AJ's reach and backing into the room towards the front door.

"AJ, stop it," Dawn called from the couch. Ryan shot her a glance. She was cutting lines on the table. Huh. Maybe she was onto something.

"Shut it, Dawn," AJ snapped back.

"C'mon, AJ," she whined, a rolled bill in her hand. Ryan was still edging towards the door, and kept checking on AJ, but he saw that her tactic worked. AJ shrugged and shot him an evil glance.

"Fuck it," he snarled, and ambled back towards the couch. "You better get the fuck outta here, kid." He grabbed the bill and leaned down over the twin tracks on the table.

Ryan nodded and looked at his mother. She hadn't come out of the encounter too bad, considering. He was definitely going to look worse in the morning.

"Come back later," she mouthed at him over AJ's bent head.

Ryan let himself out.

---- - ---- ------------- ----------- - --------- ---- - - - - ------

He stood outside the front porch for a few moments, checking his injuries. He was going to have a shiner tomorrow for sure, and a bruised jaw. But apart from that he was okay, so for AJ that wasn't too bad. And he had landed a hard punch on the motherfucker, which made him happy. It also looked like AJ and Dawn had stopped fighting for now.

Ryan patted his pockets and swore under his breath when he realized he had left his cigarettes on his bed. He might be able to crack the window open from outside, but it seemed pointless at this stage to risk getting AJ pissed again. Later, when he was wasted, it would be easier to sneak back in. Until then, he had a couple of hours to kill. He looked over the fence at Arturo and Theresa's house, wondering whether he wanted to spend time with either of them. He thought of Eddie, too, and his concern for him.

His stomach rumbled. Ryan checked the time – it was eight o'clock and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. That swung it. Eva always had food ready, and always shared it generously. Plus it would give him a chance to catch up with Theresa and say hi. He crossed over and rang the doorbell.

Theresa opened the door.

"Huh. There's a face I haven't seen in a while, Atwood." She stood there, looking at him stonily, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Ryan felt uncomfortable. The last words they'd exchanged weren't exactly friendly, something he hadn't really thought about when he rang the bell.

"Hey Theresa. Any chance I could come in?" he asked.

"You back at your mom's?" she said, not moving.

"Just for the night." What the hell was she playing at?

"Okay then, I guess." Theresa said without enthusiasm, and she stepped aside to let him in.

The house was more than usually quiet, and Ryan realized neither Arturo nor Eva were home. Suddenly the dynamics of the situation shifted. He wasn't sure he was up to one-on-one time with a pissed Theresa. And after his little pep talk from Eddie, he didn't really want to work on making up with her, either, because that generally involved fucking, and that somehow felt wrong now.

"Your mom's not around," he remarked. "What's up?" He'd rarely known Eva not to be there. That had been one of the main differences between his home and Theresa's. Her mom was always there in the evenings, cooking dinner, looking after her and Arturo, and making the place a home. It was as close to a real home as Ryan had ever experienced.

"Mom's visiting my aunt in San Diego," Theresa said flatly. "So, what are you doing here? I thought it was all about you being a drug lord with your brother these days?"

Ryan could feel his ears burning. "Listen, Theresa, I..."

She went on. "Or so 'Turo tells me because it's not like you keep in touch. Last time I saw you, you were a prize ass, but it looks like you're even more of an ass now." She was glowering at him.

"It's not like I could stay there, Theresa," he said hotly, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his home. "And what's the point of trying to do anything to get out of this mess if my fucking Mom can't stay straight for three months at a time?"

She sighed. "Oh Ryan, for Christ's sake, what are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything," he snapped back. "What choice do you think I have?"

They were standing eye to eye in the center of the room. Theresa looked at him with something a damn sight too close to pity for comfort. Ryan wanted to tell her to shut up, to stop telling him off, but he'd rather she bawled him out that than look at him with those eyes.

She leaned in and touched her lips to his and he kissed her back, his mouth opening as a reflex. She pressed her breasts into his chest, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders, and he found himself hugging her close. Her lips were soft, yielding, her tongue hungry. He could feel his whole body responding to her, his brain shutting down and letting his dick take over. He ground his hips into hers, and heard her moan softly. This was so easy, so natural. He felt like shit, he went to Theresa, Theresa gave him comfort, they got off, everyone was happy.

Except that this time, he felt really bad about it. He pulled away.

"Theresa, we can't," he muttered and he felt her stiffen.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I really want to... but Eddie..." he faltered. He sounded like an ass and he knew it.

Theresa stared at him and pushed him away. She looked really pissed.

"Eddie? Since when do you give a fuck about Eddie, Ryan? Because I don't remember you talking about him when you were here last." Her voice was bitter with pent-up fury and frustration.

"Since – whatever, Theresa, it's not a good idea." Ryan knew she was right, that he was acting like a prick to her. Nobody else had ever come between them before. And he had never turned her down before

But Eddie – Eddie gave a fuck about Ryan. Eddie had actually taken the time to tell Ryan what he thought about his current situation. He'd offered help. And Ryan may have told him to fuck off, but he knew the guy was doing the right thing, and it felt plain wrong to bone his girlfriend after that. Even if it was Theresa.

"It's never a good idea Ryan. But when did Eddie start counting more than I did? Is that what happens when you hang with Trey? You turn into the same kind of asshole as him, and 'Turo? It's all about the guys and their honor and us girls, we just get lumped in with the shit? Jesus, I hate you Ryan. Fuck you!"

"Theresa..."

"You know what? Next time you're in fucking trouble, don't come knocking on my door, Atwood. I don't care anymore. You can go fuck yourself. Now get out of my house." And she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Ryan sighed. This time he'd fucked it up good and proper with Theresa. But maybe it was for the best. He didn't really want Theresa hanging out with him and Trey these days. And with Eddie – it made things simpler if they just didn't see each other. Yeah, simpler.

Even if it meant losing one of the few things that had made his life bearable until now.


	6. The Party

****

**_Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. _**

Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter.

So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc… are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue. _

_Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta! _

_Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing. _

_Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references. This chapter pretty hard R._

_This version slightly edited compared to LJ version (very minor word changes)_

_--- - ------------------------ ------ - ---------------------_

4. The Party.

It was, like, the third party that weekend, and Ryan was wasted. Seriously, booze-and-drugs, up-to-the-eyeballs-and-beyond wasted.

He was leaning against a wall – propped against it really – in a room full of flashing lights and colors, a steady beat humming into his bones, squinting at the girls and boys gyrating and thrusting to the music. He had no idea what time it was, or where exactly in Chino he was but it didn't matter. It was a cool party, he knew a couple of people, and there were enough pretty girls flashing cleavage to make the view interesting.

Besides, it had been a good night. Trey and he had sold all their stash pretty quickly, and then Trey had gone off to do some other deals – pills, it turned out – and now Ryan was carrying a fair amount of cash in his jeans and feeling quite relaxed. A couple of girls had come and whispered entreaties to join them on the dance floor but Ryan always shook his head. He didn't dance. He watched, but he didn't fucking dance.

The music, though, was getting just little too heavy, a little too loud, the bass line pounding into his temples, making his head throb. He had a metallic taste in his mouth and kept licking his lips. That stuff Trey had given him was beginning to make him antsy. So far it wasn't exactly what he'd expected. So far. Wait and see.

It occurred to him that he was spending a lot of his time out of his head, drunk or stoned or, now, coming up on some chemical approximation of E (but better, Trey had whispered as he slipped him the little white pill; Ryan had hesitated a moment before palming it and then swallowing it with a mouthful of beer; it tasted bitter and chalky). His memories of the last few weeks were beginning to blur at the edges. It was a deliberate move – he was happier not thinking too closely about the life he was choosing for himself – but it also reminded him way too much of Dawn, and that was never a good thing.

But hey, that was the kind of stuff Trey did – and if he was becoming Trey's sidekick, he might as well take advantage of the material benefits.

Right now though he was looking for a place to mellow out, because the noise and the people and the music were just getting too loud for his brain. He staggered towards the back of the house in search of an unoccupied room. The house was surprisingly large and after a trying a few doors he found a small empty bedroom with a few cushions and a mattress on the floor onto which he sank gratefully. He drained the can of soda he was clutching in his hand. His mouth was so fucking dry he could swear the liquid evaporated on contact with his tongue. He lay back on the mattress and closed his eyes, listening to the muffled beat.

---- - - ---------- ---------- --------------- ----

A door opened somewhere.

"Hey there, you OK?" A girl's voice. Nasal. He couldn't quite place it but he thought he'd talked to her earlier in the evening. Did he sell her something? Maybe if he kept his eyes closed she'd go away. He wasn't up for small talk. Through the open door, the music blared into the room, the tune winding its way into his consciousness. It sounded good. He could see the rhythm dipping and spiking in his mind's eye, as if his brain had turned the bass into a visual display. He suppressed the urge to mark the beat with his foot. A small part of him realized it would look stupid while he was sprawled on a mattress.

"Are you asleep, man?" Her again. Couldn't she see he was doing fine? Better than fine actually. Fucking girls. Never took silence for an answer.

Through half-open lids he peered at her. Even that demanded what felt like an effort of superhuman proportions. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name but she was a looker all right. A bit slutty, but with really good legs, which she was showing to her advantage right now with a cropped leather mini just barely covering her ass. And a thong under it, clearly visible from Ryan's reclining position. He could see her ass. It was nice. He felt a rush of blood to his groin as he stared up her skirt and almost gasped. Christ, the E or whatever was coming on strong. Even through his fogged brain he realized he had to do something to cover the fact that he was getting a massive hard-on. And maybe he should say hi, while he was at it.

He licked his lips again and attempted a grin as he propped himself on his side. Damn. She was giving him the once-over – and she couldn't have failed to notice his bulge. Way to go, Atwood. Fuck it. He was too wasted to feel embarrassed. Her eyes traveled back up and met his. She smiled. Hell, maybe that wasn't so bad; maybe she wanted a piece of him. He took a deep breath in, savoring the feeling of air entering his lungs. That shit was good. He was thoroughly buzzed, and in a good way, warm and fuzzy and happy and horny as hell.

"Uh, hey. Whassup?" He cleared his throat and crinkled his eyes at her.

"I'm looking for a place to chill. It's getting a little too wild out there."

He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked a little fuzzy around the edges. And her eyes had the same unfocused look he knew she could see in his own. "Been doing some of Trey's pills?"

"Maybe," she giggled "You?"

He nodded, weighing his options. If he wanted to get close enough to touch her, he'd either have to stand up, which felt impossible right now, or convince her to come down to his level. Which, if she was on the same shit he was on, was bound to be pretty easy. He reached a hand out.

"C'mere."

She dropped to her knees, still giggling, and let him wrap his arm around her waist and pull her all the way down to the mattress. She was willing enough, Ryan discovered, as he kissed her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, and she let him run his hands down her shoulders to her breasts, which perked through her thin tank top. He rubbed her nipples slowly, enjoying the way they hardened under his fingers, and the effect it was having on him as he got off on her arousal. Her hands were slipping under his T-shirt, stroking his chest, playing with _his_ nipples, and Ryan groaned as the sensations radiated through his body.

Jesus, Trey was right. That shit was fucking amazing. He shuddered as she grazed his skin with her nails. He felt hypersensitive, like every nerve ending was linked to his crotch, and the most innocuous of touches could trigger waves of pleasure. He pulled away slightly and started kissing her neck, licking and biting her softly as he descended towards her shoulder. She sighed.

"Oh, God, Ryan…"

Fuck.

What the fuck was her name? Why the fuck did she remember his? There was no way he could ask her now without sounding like a complete asshole. Then again, fucking a girl without knowing her name – that was major asshole behavior in his book. Or would have been, if he'd been straight enough to care.

And then Ryan's brain short-circuited briefly as her thigh pressed against his groin and he rolled her over and started dry-humping her against the mattress, overcome by lust. Nothing… mattered… anymore. Except. Except this, the feel of her body against his, the press of flesh against denim, the rhythm of his hips and hers. Her hot breath in his ear, as he continued tonguing her neck, and the little soft moans she was making. And the goddamn amazing tingling feeling that had taken over his body, that made him want to moan too, like a girl.

Ryan wasn't sure how far she'd let him go but he figured it was worth a try. His hand slid from her breast down to her hip, as he continued thrusting against her. In a foggy part of his head, he wondered whether he was going to come in his pants, and whether he cared.

The girl whose name he still couldn't remember was more than happy to let him go as far as he wanted, he realized, as she angled her body to allow his hand maximum access. It made sense if she was as horny as he was, he thought in a brief moment of lucidity. He slid a finger under her thong, and she arched into his hand and threw her head back. Ryan grinned and started tracing his tongue down to her breast, all the while stroking her, finding a rhythm. Just as things were beginning to get _really_ interesting, he heard a noise at the door.

"Hey, man, sorry, but I kind of need my room…"

Fuck.

Ryan closed his eyes, trying to summon every ounce of willpower and every scrap of sobriety still at his disposal. Not that it amounted to much. He opened his eyes a fraction and looked at the girl. She was lying there, lips parted, eyes out of focus, panting. Which wasn't so surprising considering he still had his hand down her thong, and she was rubbing herself against it. Jesus, he could almost forget about the guy standing in the doorway and just…

No! Shit, he wasn't going to bring her off in front of an audience. With difficulty, he pulled his hand away and looked up into the eyes of another, very spaced out guy who judging by the girl wrapped around him was also in serious need of a private room. He looked very apologetic.

"Man, I would wait, but, you know…"

"Yeah," Ryan said, trying to pretend this was a normal conversation and that he wasn't lying there, barely able to communicate, with a gigantic boner and a girl practically spread out under him, begging for a fuck. Not to mention a very wet right hand.

In the back of his mind he knew that he hated the situation, that he never _ever_ did that stuff, that fucking with an audience was every kind of wrong and _exactly_ the sort of shit that Trey got off on and he _hated. _But his control was slipping, and his dick had taken over, again, and he really wanted to go on.

But Ryan couldn't.

He staggered to his feet, pulling the girl up as he did. She was barely able to stand and he put a hand across her shoulders to keep her upright. The other guy shrugged at him as they went past, looking sheepish and horny and as the door shut behind them Ryan could hear a zipper being pulled open. No time wasted there.

----- - -- - --- - - --------------- --------------

"Babe, what's happening?" the girl complained in his neck, pressing herself against him, making him lurch.

"Gotta move. C'mon."

"Oh, God, I'm so thirsty," she moaned as they made it back to the main room. The party was getting wilder, he noted even in his state. There were still people dancing, but there were bodies slumped in every corner, and he was pretty sure there was actual sex happening behind the couch. Ryan kept his mind focused on getting outside, where the fresh air would help straighten him out and figure what to do next.

He put her down gently on the porch, leaning against the wall of the house. There were fewer people out there, and he knelt next to her and kissed her, feeling the E or whatever the fuck it was peaking again as their lips mashed together and he sought her tongue with his. Her lips were hot and wet and warm and he lost himself in the moment, again.

"Thirsty," she mumbled against him after a couple of minutes. He pulled away. His mouth was dry, too, and he was desperate for a drink, now he thought of it.

"Okay. Back soon."

Ryan got up and steadied himself with a hand against the wall, scanning around him for another way into the house without having to walk past the fucking rutting going on in the living room.

"Ryan?" The voice sounded alarmingly familiar, just behind him.

Who the fuck?

He spun round.

Oh.

"Theresa? What the fuck are _you_ doing in this place?"

She stood on the front steps, her dark curls piled on top of her head, looking grownup and hot in a tight red dress that showed a lot of leg. Her eyes went from the girl slumped against the wall to him and back again. She didn't look too pleased.

"And who's _that_?" she asked. He could hear the scorn in her voice. She quit looking at the girl, who was oblivious to her presence, and stared at him intently. Ryan squirmed. She was examining him detachedly, like a cat looking at potential prey, and he felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Cut it, Theresa," he attempted.

"Oh, Atwood. You are in a fine state. What the hell are you even on? You look – you look like a damn wreck. And…" Her eyes had stalled on his crotch and despite her glare Ryan was still hard. Worse, he was getting turned on as he saw her suck in her bottom lip in a gesture he knew so well. She was, too, he could tell, and that spurred him on. He reached his hand up to her cheek, instinctively, his fingers brushing against her downy skin.

Theresa flinched. "What the hell…"

"Hey, I'm… sorry," Ryan whispered. "About the other day, about Eddie..." He leaned into her, inhaling her scent, and promptly forgot where he was and what he was doing, and everything but the fact that he was close to her and she smelt like home, and he was horny and tingly and high, and this was _Theresa_ for fuck's sake, and he wanted to kiss her and run his hands on her skin and lick the sweat off her collarbone and then bite here there because she liked it and…

"Get the fuck off me, Ry!"

She pushed him away, scowling. As Ryan struggled to keep his balance, he saw Eddie, straight ahead, looking at him with murder in his eyes, and he felt suddenly very ashamed, and very stupid, even through the thick fog of chemicals coating his brain.

Theresa turned on her heels and marched off towards Eddie. Ryan saw her grab his elbow and whisper into his ear, urgently, soothingly, but Eddie's eyes were still on Ryan and he felt like a complete, utter asshole.

----- ------------ - -- -- - - - --- ----------- -----

He stumbled back towards the door and got back into the main room, zigzagging through the prone bodies on the floor and past the dancers towards the kitchen where he blindly grabbed some soda and a beer before lurching out through the back door. Fuck, he could barely stay vertical.

He rested his back against the house wall and tipped his head back, breathing deeply. The sheer physical pleasure of breathing was almost overwhelming. That E-like stuff made him act like an ass, but it did have its compensations. He pressed a cold can against his cheeks, reveling in the coolness and the drops of condensation trickling down his face and dripping down onto his neck. His heightened sensitivity was focusing on every little sensation, the warm still air clinging to his skin, the muffled bass thump coming through the walls of the house, the smell of tobacco and marijuana smoke around him, tickling his nose.

How long had it been since he'd had a smoke? He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, lit it with a flick of the wrist on Trey's Zippo – how did he end up with it? – and inhaled. The taste was unbelievable – the best cigarette he'd ever smoked. He felt his spirits soar with every drag, his mood lightening as he forgot all about what had just happened out front.

Hell, where was the girl he'd been kissing moments ago? Whatever her name was? Ryan panicked, briefly, and then remembered she was out front, and he was out back, and nearly giggled before deciding to go and find her again and maybe bring her the drink he'd promised her whenever that was.

As he turned the corner of the house, he suddenly recalled his encounter with Theresa and Eddie and stopped, checking the sparse crowd. They seemed to have disappeared, much to his relief. The nameless girl was still sitting where he left her, looking a little disheveled and, his dick reminded him, _very_ available. Maybe it was time to see what he could do there.

She guzzled the cold can of soda greedily, and handed it back to him empty, with a little sigh and a smile. A lip-licking, definitely "get back in here and let's continue what we were doing" kind of smile that made him harden in anticipation. He took her hand and helped her up, then dragged her after him towards the other side of the house. The gap there was narrower, and it was dark under the jutting low roof, and miraculously, no one else had repaired there.

Ryan started stroking her face – she was pretty, if a little too made up for his taste, and she had the kind of mouth that immediately made him think of blowjobs – then let his fingers tangle into her hair and slowly, slowly make their way down to her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her waist. She retaliated in kind, her finger tracing a line from his jaw down to his collarbone, and then down his chest to his waistband.

They just stood face to face, their hands caressing each other's body, their breathing hitching in sync as they got more demanding. His fingers slipped back under her thong and inside her, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. She was doing her damnedest to keep it together as she unzipped his pants and inserted her hand into his boxers. Until now, Ryan's sensations had been focused on his fingers exploring her. All of a sudden that dropped away and he concentrated on himself and on the amazing softness of her skin against his, on the assured touch of her fingers on him, on her grip sliding around his erection and turning his knees to jelly. Holy fuck.

He leaned towards her and captured her lower lip between his teeth, softly tugging until she opened her mouth and they kissed again. He pressed her against the wall, his fingers still pushing inside her rhythmically, as she spread her legs wider.

"Fuck me," she half whispered, half moaned into his ear, letting go of him and bracing herself against the wall. "Please baby, please."

He paused for a beat, his heart hammering, and then shook his head. Right, condom. Condom, now. Thank Christ he had some in his wallet. It took a few seconds for him to tear the packet and roll it on while she pulled off her underwear and then he grabbed her by the waist and gently pushed his way into her and stopped, overcome by a wave of pleasure. She moaned into his ear, egging him on.

His legs felt shaky. He was tingling all over, and felt pretty sure that he was going to come any second now, whether or not she did, because he had lost all control over the situation. He grunted and hoisted her up so she wrapped her legs around his waist although he could barely stand, and then he just followed his instincts and thrust up and hard into her welcoming wetness, and again, and again, until he heard her cry out and he let himself follow her, his whole body erupting into orgasm, with a loud groan and a muffled curse because fucking _hell_ that felt good.

And then they both toppled over and fell in a tangle of limbs and lay there out of breath, trying to recover and tidy up their clothing.

"That was… whoa," she said, when she regained her breath. She smiled at Ryan, who wrapped her into a loose embrace and rested his head on her shoulder. He could feel the drug ebbing slowly, but he was still high, and insanely relaxed, and buzzed. For the first time in a long time he felt happy – and like he didn't have a care in the world. He knew it was an illusion, but it worked for him.

He just wished he could remember her damn name.

----- ---- ---- --- ----------- -- -- ---------- -----

I took Ryan an hour and a half to walk home – including several wrong turnings and shortcuts that weren't. By the time he made it to Trey's he was getting back to sober. Exhausted, jittery and weirdly hungover, but he wasn't on that sensual trip anymore, and parts of his evening were already starting to fade away with the dregs of his high. He had no trouble remembering the sex though. He still felt tingly and hot from that fuck against the wall, from her urgency, the incredible physical intensity of it all, and the amazing feeling of release. _That_ endured.

He climbed the stairs slowly, and came to an abrupt stop in front of their door. Which was hanging off its hinges, propped against the doorframe awkwardly. Something had been spray painted on it, he couldn't quite make it out in the dim light of the landing, but the word SCUM was clearly legible. His heart missed a beat.

Ryan moved the door and let himself in. He was greeted by a spectacle of utter devastation. Everything had been ransacked, turned over, scattered across the room. The spray cans had been active there too, with messages scrawled across the wall. Trey was lying on the couch, asleep.

"What the fuck happened here, Trey?" Ryan whispered, in shock.

Trey started violently and almost fell off the couch.

"Fuck! When did you get in?"

Ryan didn't reply. He was still trying to process what the hell had taken place.

He waved a hand at the mess. "Who…?" His voice failed.

He tried again.

"What the fuck have you done, Trey?" And as he said the words he realized that was exactly what it was about. Because Trey looked fucking guilty. Not pissed, not affronted, but guilty. And scared, which made Ryan's stomach go queasy. Trey didn't scare easily.

Trey blinked rapidly – thinking up a lie, thought Ryan.

"Don't bullshit me, man. What the. Fuck. Have. You. Done?"

Trey sighed. "Okay – it's about this guy who I owe some money to. And he's not… patient."

Ryan ground his teeth in frustration. All the relaxed, mellow feeling from the night had evaporated. He was back in the fucking messed-up reality of life with Trey, except that now it looked a great deal worse than it had earlier in the evening.

"Are these guys going to come back or did you sort it?"

Trey said nothing but the look he gave Ryan was enough. Ryan groaned and closed his eyes, leaning back against the doorjamb.

"So are we fucked?" he asked, and as he said the words he could tell that yes, they were fucked, totally, and this was probably another one of Trey's spectacular, life-changing cock-ups.

He opened his eyes and squinted at his brother.

Trey shrugged and let his hands drop to his side. "Yeah. Can't stay here. These guys are no joke, man."

Ryan looked around him at the graffiti on the wall, the TV and DVD player, which had been taken apart with a baseball bat, the plates and the ashtrays smashed on the floor, his few possessions scattered about, the clothes flung around, the books ripped. He felt a lump in his throat. Just as he was getting used to this life, he thought.

"What're you gonna do?" he asked, hoping Trey had thought of something that would take him into account.

"Dunno. I guess I'll stay at 'Turo's for a couple nights. Or maybe Jackie's. She's kinda cool." Trey looked up at him and Ryan could read the apology in his eyes.

He wasn't headed anywhere but home, and Trey knew it. Time to reacquaint himself with the joys of living with Mom and AJ – the fighting, the beatings, the disgustingly loud fucking and the constant arguing… He couldn't wait.

"Just for a few days," Trey whispered. "Until I find us another place."

Ryan nodded. Yeah. Like that was going to happen in a hurry.

"So what kept you? Party that good, or was there more?" Trey added, in a feeble attempt at relaxing the atmosphere.

"Nothing. I just…"

Trey scanned him from top to toe swiftly, his eyes taking in Ryan's disheveled hair, his untucked T-shirt and his dusty pants. He flashed a knowing grin. "You've been getting laid, man! I told you that stuff was good."

"Yeah," said Ryan. "Yeah, it was."

"So who's the lucky lady?" Trey asked. And then he saw Ryan's uncomfortable look and started laughing. "Damn, little bro' you don't even know her fucking name, do you? You really are an Atwood." And he raised his fist in a mock salute.

Great, thought Ryan. Another fucking badge of honor to be proud of.

_TBC_


	7. The Great Escape

_**Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. **_

_Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter._

_So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?_

_DISCLAIMER: Characters etc… are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue._

_Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta!_

_Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing._

_Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references._

_And this is the last chapter – I hope you enjoyed the ride._

---- - -- --------------- - ------ --------------------------------------

_Chapter 7: The Great Escape_

It took exactly six hours for Ryan to feel he was really home. Six hours – most of them spent without the benefit of AJ's presence – before he could enjoy the full Technicolor glory of daily life at home with Mom and her motherfucker boyfriend.

And it had started so well, relatively speaking.

When Ryan arrived on his doorstep, sometime on Sunday afternoon, dragging a duffel bag that contained his remaining unspoiled possessions, he hesitated a few seconds before ringing the doorbell. For some reason, it seemed wrong to let himself in if he was coming back for good.

The first good omen was that it was Dawn and not AJ who made it to the front door.

"Hey baby, what's up? You lost your key?" she asked, and she sounded downright friendly.

"Um, no. I was just… Mom, can I crash back here for a while?" Ryan stood on the doorstep squinting at his mother and feeling like an ass; a very hungover and jittery ass, but an ass nonetheless, asking his mom if it was okay to sleep in his own bed and hoping she would say yes.

"Are you boys in trouble?" she asked immediately, suspicious.

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and held the door open.

"I swear, Ryan, you better not turn out like Trey. One of you's enough in the family."

Ryan bit back the urge to point out that in the fucked-up drug dealer stakes, she'd pulled a winner with AJ, and walked past her and straight to his room, where he dumped his bag. He sat on his bed and looked around him, taking in the faded posters and stickers on his wall, the TV – which he was surprised to still see here – the few books on the shelf next to his bed.

"Welcome home, Ryan," he muttered under his breath, before stretching out on his bed and promptly falling into a doze. He had a lot of sleep to catch up on.

He was woken up a few hours later by the sound of voices arguing next door. It didn't take long to figure that it was the usual mix of drunken argument and bitching about money, which had been part of the background noise of his growing up. _That_ he hadn't missed. He debated whether or not it was worth intervening this time, but it didn't sound like AJ was really pissed, so he decided to lie low, maybe even skip dinner and stay under his radar.

No such luck, though, because approximately twenty minutes later, the big man himself appeared at his door, scowling, a bottle of beer loosely held between his fingers. Ryan sat up on the bed, eyeing him warily.

"So, you little fuck, you're back," AJ said, and Ryan tensed up instinctively. "You better keep out of my way this time, if you know what's good for you."

"Nice to see you too, AJ."

"Yeah, and you can keep that smart fucking mouth of yours in check, too," AJ said, before taking a swig from the bottle. He looked relatively calm, though, so Ryan let himself relax a little. Maybe tonight would be okay after all.

Except it wasn't – but not for the reason he feared. A short while after AJ stomped out Ryan heard the front door slam and quiet descended on the house. He stole into the kitchen for a snack – generally a depressing prospect at home, but even day-old bread and peanut butter was better than nothing – and grabbed a beer, confident that neither AJ nor Dawn would notice one missing. He settled back in his room for a short evening of TV watching before much-needed sleep. Before going to bed, Ryan smoked a quick joint outside his window, ears trained to spot anything sounding remotely like AJ's truck.

He was woken from deep slumber by the unmistakable sound of AJ and his mother having loud, drunken sex. Extremely loud, drunken sex, in the case of Dawn. Ryan groaned and hid his head under a pillow, trying to muffle the sound, but to no effect. Christ, the walls were so paper thin it was like they were fucking right next to him, on the floor. Yeah, these were the sounds of home all right.

He ought to have become inured to it, over the years, but every time he heard her fucking one of her thug boyfriends, Ryan wanted to curl up in a ball and die. And AJ was, without a doubt, the worst – the loudest, most vocal of them all, and he sounded like a complete brute even when he was mid-fuck. Which, unfortunately, was often. Ryan felt anger and disgust welling through his body. He craved nothing more than to grab a baseball bat and bash AJ's head in once and for all, and then maybe kick his unconscious body a few dozen times with a steel-toed boot.

Usually, he would have slipped out of the window and gone straight to Theresa's. This time he slunk off to get his bike and rode off to get stoned in a rundown children's playground down the road. When he got back, they were still at it, but he was wasted enough that it didn't matter anymore. He stripped quickly to his boxers and got into bed. The minute his head touched the pillow, he was gone.

---- - ---- -- -- --------------- --- -- ------------- - - - -- ---

The next day, Ryan left the house early to avoid having to face either his mom or AJ and cycled over to Jackie's. Trey had told him she worked, so they could probably meet there and sort out some business while she was out. Ryan wasn't too keen on dealing out of someone else's home, but Trey assured him she was cool with it. Ryan didn't believe him, but he went along with Trey because at this point, he was fresh out of options.

It was strange to see his brother in a neat, tidy setting. Ryan had met Jackie a couple of times – she seemed to be a semi-regular girl of Trey's – and she was nice, if not terribly bright. He also suspected she was more than a little naïve. She let Trey crash at her place without asking him either about his drug dealing or why he was homeless at such short notice.

"You didn't tell her why you left your place, did you?" he asked Trey when they were going through their stash on the living room table.

"She doesn't need to know." Trey said, avoiding Ryan's eyes.

"Yeah, sure. Because those guys would never follow you, would they?"

Trey shrugged. Ryan felt a surge of annoyance – he was getting really pissed at his brother for his cavalier approach to the whole situation.

"I mean, man, what are you doing about them? And should I be watching _my _back?"

"Man, give me a break. I ain't dumb. I have a plan, okay?"

A plan. Great. That was Trey-speak for 'let's go and do something stupid'.

"What?"

Trey didn't respond and focused all his attention on the scales in front of him.

"Trey?"

"Just make sure you're free tomorrow night, okay?"

"Not if you don't tell me what you're up to," retorted Ryan, zipping up another baggie. Although he knew that if AJ was around he'd be out and at a loose end. And Trey knew that, too, because he looked up at Ryan with something like pity in his eyes.

"C'mon, Ryan. It's just something we have to do. I need to teach you a bit more about shit. I'll tell you about what happened, too. Deal?"

Ryan shrugged. He suspected Trey was going to take him out to boost a car, which was something he'd been dreading. He could handle dealing pot. Jacking cars? That was a stupid idea. But going out, even to do stupid things with Trey, was better than staying in his bedroom waiting for AJ to get angry at him, or trying to block out the sounds of his mother getting laid.

So yeah, deal.

------ - -- ------------ - --- ---------------------- ---- ---- ---------------------

When he got home, late that afternoon, Ryan was relieved to see the pick-up gone. Maybe AJ was out doing the rounds of his skuzzy dealer friends – or possibly, checking out what was happening to the wife and kids he'd left behind. But Ryan didn't have many illusions about AJ's grasp on the responsibilities of fatherhood, so that last option was probably out of the question. Sometimes Ryan wondered about AJ's children. He knew there were three, two boys and a girl, and that the eldest was something like – what, thirteen now? He wondered whether AJ was as much of an asshole to his own kids as he was to Ryan, or whether he could be nice to them. He wondered if they missed him, like he missed his dad sometimes, even though Dad had been a son of a bitch most of the time anyhow.

"Where you been all day?" his mother greeted him when he walked in through the door, her voice shrill. "I thought you'd be around now. I need you to go buy some food while I'm at work. You got money?"

Here goes, thought Ryan.

"Sure," he said. "I can get some food."

"Thanks, honey," she said, reaching out to tousle his hair, while Ryan ducked. "I'm a bit short this week, but I'll pay you back."

Ryan knew better than to hope that would ever happen. But he was reasonably flush at the moment, and it was drug money anyhow – which somehow wasn't the same as hard-earned proper work money, so he didn't mind so much feeding fucking AJ with it. Although he still didn't like it.

As he cycled back from the store with a full backpack, he caught sight of a familiar figure trudging up the street. He debated whether to cycle past without saying anything, because he was pretty sure she'd snub him anyway, but it was probably bad policy. Theresa did not take kindly to being ignored.

He overtook her and braked sharply.

"Hey."

She looked up at him with a frown, her brown eyes serious. She would get lost in thought when she walked along, and more than once, Ryan had met her in the street and tapped her on the shoulder only to be greeted with a blank look as her mind was stuck somewhere miles away. Ryan felt a pang of longing. This was Theresa, his oldest friend, the one positive constant in his fucked-up life. How had he managed to mess up so badly with her?

As she recognized him, he saw the ghost of a smile forming on her lips, and then abruptly her face closed down.

"Fuck off, Atwood. I'm not talking to you."

"Theresa, come on," he pleaded, but she pushed past him and continued up the road. Ryan sucked his upper lip between his teeth and stood watching her long-legged silhouette walk away until she turned a corner and the spell was broken.

Once again, he felt like a complete jackass. He was beginning to get used to it, though. Wearily, he got back on his bike and cycled the last few hundred yards, the weight of his backpack digging into his shoulders.

When he dismounted in front of the house, AJ's truck was there.

The evening was looking ever more promising.

------------- -- -- --- ------------------- - --- --------

After the tense, unpleasant experience that had been Monday evening – even though, miraculously, he and AJ had spent most of the time alone under the same roof without resorting to fisticuffs – Ryan was determined to be out on Tuesday. The luck wouldn't hold two days in a row.

Which meant, rightly or wrongly, that he'd agreed to go with Trey for his latest lesson in crime. Apparently, the lesson started at the pool hall near his old place, and Ryan braced himself in case Eddie was there – which he wasn't, thankfully, probably because it was a weekday night and he took his job seriously. They ended up with a couple of Trey's more disreputable friends, guys Ryan had met a couple of times but didn't particularly like or trust.

One of them, Manuel, a shaven-headed Latino guy with a snake tattooed on the back of his neck, kept jostling Ryan when he was trying to line up a shot.

The third time, Ryan snapped.

"Will you quit fucking shoving me, man? I'm trying to play here."

Manuel snarled at him and Ryan felt the adrenaline flooding through his veins. He was wound up tight as a spring after all the fucking hassle of the past couple of days, moving home, tiptoeing around AJ and having to put up with all the loud sex from his mom. Besides, he was still really angry with Trey for losing the apartment in the first place

Yeah, he was game for a fight if that dickhead wanted to take it outside. He rested his pool cue against the side of the table and looked Manuel straight in the eye, his jaw clenched.

"You got a fucking problem, man," he growled, and despite the fact that Manuel had a couple of inches on him, Ryan was convinced he could have him in a straight one-on-one fight.

Somehow, the message must have got through pretty clearly because he caught a flicker of hesitation in the other guy's face. Ryan saw an opening and stepped forward, his eyes still locked on Manuel's.

He could feel Trey's presence at his back, and he knew that if things really got _ugly_ Trey would step in, but he wasn't sure whether Trey would intervene if they came to blows or let them duke it out. You could never tell with Trey.

"Okay, okay," the other guy said, backing off. "Chill out, dude."

Ryan felt slightly disappointed – part of him had been looking forward to letting rip and evacuating some of the pent-up anger and frustration. But he wasn't stupid enough to chase a fight when there was no need for one. He nodded and picked up his cue again.

A couple of games later – and forty dollars richer – Ryan was starting to feel relaxed. He'd drunk a couple of beers, and had almost forgotten that the evening had an ulterior purpose. When Trey signaled for him to follow him out of the bar, the reality of what they were about to do hit him anew. He noticed Trey had picked up a crowbar along the way – and there no longer was any doubt about what they were up to.

He fell in step with his brother outside the bar as they walked up the deserted streets. Trey wasn't saying anything, and Ryan wasn't asking, but he could see him scanning the cars they passed for an easy, or an inviting, target. After ten minutes of silent car stalking, Ryan was beginning to feel conspicuous, and wondered whether Trey would let him bail on him.

"Now that's what I call a car," Trey murmured as they turned a corner.

The gold Camaro was parked under a streetlight, by a graffiti-strewn wall, and was a little too exposed for Ryan's taste. But Trey was clearly sold. He approached the car with an intent expression on his face, and then turned to Ryan with a grin.

"I'm your big brother," he said. "If I don't teach you this, who will?" And he swung the crowbar, smashing the driver's side window while Ryan jumped back in shock. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It was a terrible idea.

Trey popped the lock and got in the car, checking the glove box and the sun visor for a spare set of keys. Apparently, some people in Chino still trusted the locals not to break into their cars, because Ryan saw Trey fitting a key to the ignition.

"I don't know, Trey," he muttered, feeling very stupid and very afraid. He felt in way over his head – this was a different kind of thing altogether, something he'd been avoiding his whole life. This was following into Dad's footsteps in the dumbest way. What the fuck was he doing here?

"Quit being a little bitch! Get in!" Trey shouted, and Ryan started walking towards the passenger side. The engine rumbled.

"Yeah let's go!" Trey urged him. "Get in""

As Ryan stood by the passenger door, paralyzed with fear and indecision, a police car drove by in the main road behind them.

Trey's voice took on an edge of panic.

"C'mon let's go Ryan!" And then the police car reversed back towards them, and the siren went, and Ryan found himself running alongside the car and hopping in, terrified and utterly convinced he was making the worst mistake of his short life.

Trey was in full manic mode, laughing uproariously and apparently enjoying the whole chase. He gunned the engine down an empty road, tires screeching. He was completely getting off on the whole thing, and Ryan realized he was a lot drunker – or more stoned, whatever – than he had given him credit for earlier. Great.

"You should see your face, man!" he cackled at Ryan.

And then another police car appeared in front of them, cutting them off, and suddenly they were being shunted down a side street with a sound of crumpling metal as the police car rammed them, and Ryan could hear his voice shouting "No no no no no!" as the car spun and crashed.

He raised his hands above his shoulders and looked at Trey in the glow of the police lights. The manic laughter had gone and all that was left was a defeated look. Their ride was over all right.

Shit, he hoped Trey wasn't carrying drugs. Or worse, his fucking piece. And as they got out of the car, spread their legs and leant against the side of the car for a quick search, Ryan saw the gun being pulled out of Trey's waistband and handed to another officer, and his heart sank further. There was no way Trey could avoid doing time now, not with this, not with his priors.

The ride back to the police station was a blur – he was too scared and hyped to think straight, his hands hurt behind his back, he could feel Trey breathing shallowly next to him, and he knew then Trey too was scared, and that made the fear ten times worse. When they got to the station, they were sat unceremoniously on a bench in the booking area, and told to shut up. Ryan rolled his shoulders to ease the knots – it was damn uncomfortable to ride in a car with hands cuffed behind your back. He could feel his wrists chafing against the metal of the cuffs and wondered how long it took to be used to being cuffed. Not that he wanted to find out. Ever.

When Trey was called in for his booking, he turned back and gave Ryan a long look in which Ryan could read fear, despair, and above all, guilt. Immense, soul-destroying guilt, because Trey had always been his big brother and, in his misguided way, had always looked out for him. And now, he'd sent him to jail.

That was the last he saw of Trey in a while.

A police officer called his mother when the time came for Ryan to be booked – and judging by the look on the man's face, Dawn was pretty hopping mad. She was probably blind drunk, too, Ryan reflected, which was unlikely to play in his favor. At any rate, she point blank refused to talk to him.

By the time they took him through to the juvenile detention center, he was exhausted, depressed, still terrified and feeling completely bereft.

He was truly on his own.

---------- - - - ------------------------- - - -- ------------------

Ryan looked around the cell, furnished with a couple of bunk beds, a toilet, and a sink. He was alone, which had to be a blessing, because he'd been psyching himself all the way down the corridor to look as mean as he could in case he was sharing with some evil-ass teenage gangbanger with a grudge against short white boys.

He was glad it was night, too, and he had some time to pull together before he got to mix with the other inmates, because what he'd heard from Trey about lockup didn't inspire him with much confidence. He knew he was going to be a prime target – he was fresh meat with no experience of juvie, no friends inside, no connections. He was a blonde, blue-eyed white boy in a penal system filled with Latino and black kids from the ghetto. All he had in his favor was his capacity to keep his head down, lie low and shut the fuck up. That and a willingness to get into a fight with bigger guys, even if he ended up getting his ass kicked.

He sat on the bottom bed and rested his back against the tiled wall. He had a few hours to figure out how badly he'd fucked up, and it didn't look good. If Ryan was honest with himself, he was in more trouble than he had ever been. And Trey – fuck, Trey had to be headed for jail time. Trey was really up shit creek.

Ryan dropped his head into his hands. He felt like a shit for even thinking about himself at this point, but hell, the thought of life without Trey was just chilling. No matter how miserable and fucked-up and dead-end life _with_ Trey was, at least he represented an escape, an alternative to his soul-destroying existence with Mom and AJ. Now – there was nowhere for Ryan to go. Theresa would never forgive him for messing up with Eddie; Eddie – well, Eddie probably still hated his guts for having tried to kiss Theresa at the party. Eddie, who, it turned out, had been remarkably accurate in his predictions for Trey and Ryan's future. Except in the timeline he'd sketched out – because it had barely taken a week, in the end.

He rubbed his face, feeling the nascent stubble under his fingers, and sighed, a long, trembling sigh that left him on the verge of tears. The adrenaline rush of the past few hours was finally subsiding, leaving in its place gut-rotting fear and uncertainty. Ryan had no idea of the sentence he was likely to get, but he knew jail was definitely a possibility. At best, he'd be released to Dawn and he was – at the very least – going to get a serious beating from AJ. It was too good an opportunity for him to let pass. At worst, he'd be wearing somebody else's fucking clothes for a while. He looked at the dark blue jumpsuit he was wearing, the fabric stiff against his skin. It smelled of cheap detergent with an undertone of old sweat, a thoroughly unappealing combination, which he really didn't want to have to endure for longer than was strictly necessary.

He forced himself to lie down on the hard bunk. He could feel the unyielding surface under the thin foam mattress, and the blanket he pulled over his body was scratchy. Maybe it was tiredness, but his senses were revolting against the drabness surrounding him. Everything felt wrong, smelled wrong, looked crap. The thought of having to spend actual time in this sort of place made him want to throw up – and that was before factoring in the other inmates, the thought of whom was enough to scare the shit out of him. Ryan liked to think of himself as a reasonably tough kid – and had had plenty of occasions to prove it – but in jail, he was aware that he was just bait.

Despite the exhaustion he felt, sleep eluded him for much of the night, and when it came it was rife with nightmares, staccato dreams of getting chased and caught, again and again, of walls closing in on him, of nameless faces crowding him into his cell. He woke several times, heart racing, only to realize he'd just been dreaming. By the time his door was unlocked for breakfast in the morning, he felt like he'd gone several rounds with Tyson.

Ryan splashed water on his face before walking out to line up with the other inmates on his way to the cafeteria. He kept his head down, but his eyes kept darting to the sides, looking at the boys either side of him. He was obviously in with the older, rougher crowd, or maybe he was just unlucky. Either way, the tattooed guys he could see out of the corner of his eye looked hard, and fucking scary.

He picked up a metal tray and followed the line through the cafeteria, selecting cereal, juice, milk and some unappetizing looking yellow mess that looked like it might be scrambled eggs. He sat alone on the edge of a table and ate quickly, avoiding other boys' eyes. As long as he didn't stare at anyone, and eschewed any physical contact, he figured he might be able to make it through the day unscathed. After he ate, he asked to return to his cell and was escorted back.

By the time he was called to the visitors' area later that morning for the meeting with his court-appointed lawyer, Ryan had had a good couple of hours to build up various scenarios of doom in his mind, and he had used them fully. He expected his attorney to be incompetent, and the authorities to be merciless. He suspected he could end up behind bars for vehicle theft, even though it was a first offence. He had a father in jail, a brother who was headed for jail, and a mother who wasn't exactly the world's most reliable character witness. He was fucked.

When he stepped out of the door, the guard rattled the handcuffs at him and motioned for him to place his hands behind his back. Ryan obeyed and clenched his fists behind him. When the cuffs clicked shut, he felt a shiver go through him. He couldn't bear being chained like a wild animal.

The walk down the corridors with the guard seemed endless. After what seemed like a dozen metal doors and grilles, each locked and equipped with buzzers and cameras, he was finally pushed into a dingy room with a table and a few stools bolted to the floor. A dark-haired middle-aged man in a suit was sat on one of the stools with a pile of papers in front of him and looked up at Ryan as he walked in, propelled forward by the guard's none-too-gentle touch.

Ryan felt lightheaded, his stomach queasy with apprehension, and he could hear his heart thudding in his chest. He was terrified, he realized, because now all the stuff he'd been imagining was about to turn into reality. Or not. But probably, yes.

And no matter how bad his life had been until now, he feared it was about to get much, much worse

_The End (or perhaps more appropriately, The Beginning). _


End file.
